THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


WILD   ANIMALS  AT  HOME 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 
THE  BOOK  OF  WOODCRAFT  AND  INDIAN  LORE 

WILD  ANIMALS  I  HAVE  KNOWN 

TWO  LITTLE  SAVAGES 

BIOGRAPHY  OF  A  GRIZZLY 

LIFE  HISTORIES  OF  NORTHERN  ANIMALS 

ROLF  IN  THE  WOODS 
THE  FORESTERS'  MANUAL 


WILD 
ANIMALS 

ArHoME 


i n 

a  Grizzfy 

"life  Histories  oTNorthern  Animals. 
"Mctfinthe  WoodsfheBoohoJ 'Woodcraft 

Head  Chief  of  Ihe 
Woodcraft  Indians 

With  over  J50 Sketches  and 
Photographs  by  the  Author 

Garden  City,  AT.  Y.,  and  Toronto 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1922 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages  t 

including  the  Scandinavian 


AT 
THE  COUNTBT  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  IT.  T. 


Foreword 

My  travels  in  search  of  light  on  the  "Animals 
at  Home"  have  taken  me  up  and  down  the  Rocky 
Mountains  for  nearly  thirty  years.  In  the  can- 
yons from  British  Columbia  to  Mexico,  I  have 
lighted  my  campfire,  far  beyond  the  bounds  of 
law  and  order,  at  times,  and  yet  I  have  found  no 
place  more  rewarding  than  the  Yellowstone  Park, 
the  great  mountain  haven  of  wild  life. 

Whenever  travellers  penetrate  into  remote  re- 
gions where  human  hunters  are  unknown,  they 
find  the  wild  things  half  tame,  little  afraid  of 
man,  and  inclined  to  stare  curiously  from  a  dis- 
tance of  a  few  paces.  But  very  soon  they  learn 
that  man  is  their  most  dangerous  enemy,  and  fly 
from  hi™  as  soon  as  he  is  seen.  It  takes  a  long 
time  and  much  restraint  to  win  back  their  con- 
fidence. 

iln  the  early  days  of  the  West,  when  game 
abounded  and  when  fifty  yards  was  the  extreme 
deadly  range  of  the  hunter's  weapons,  wild  crea- 
tures were  comparatively  tame.  The  advent  cl 


«     5104 
365077 


Foreword 

the  rifle  and  of  the  lawless  skin  hunter  soon  turned 
all  big  game  into  fugitives  of  excessive  shyness 
and  wariness.  One  glimpse  of  a  man  half  a  mile 
off,  or  a  whiff  of  him  on  the  breeze,  was  enough 
to  make  a  Mountain  Ram  or  a  Wolf  run  for 
miles,  though  formerly  these  creatures  would  have 
gazed  serenely  from  a  point  but  a  hundred  yards 
removed. 

The  establishment  of  the  Yellowstone  Park  hi 
1872  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  era  of  protection 
for  wild  life;  and,  by  slow  degrees,  a  different 
attitude  in  these  animals  toward  us.  In  this 
Reservation,  and  nowhere  else  at  present  in  the 
northwest,  the  wild  things  are  not  only  abundant, 
but  they  have  resumed  their  traditional  Garden- 
of-Eden  attitude  toward  man. 

They  come  out  in  the  daylight,  they  are  harm- 
less, and  they  are  not  afraid  at  one's  approach. 
Truly  this  is  ideal,  a  paradise  for  the  naturalist 
and  the  camera  hunter. 

The  region  first  won  fame  for  its  Canyon,  its 
Cataracts  and  its  Geysers,  but  I  think  its  animal 
life  has  attracted  more  travellers  than  even  the 
landscape  beauties.  I  know  it  was  solely  the 
joy  of  being  among  the  animals  that  led  me  to 
spend  all  one  summer  and  part  of  another  season 
in  the  Wonderland  of  the  West. 
vi 


Foreword 

My  adventures  in  making  these  studies  among 
the  fourfoots  have  been  very  small  adventures 
indeed;  the  thrillers  are  few  and  far  between. 
Any  one  can  go  and  have  the  same  or  better  ex- 
periences to-day.  But  I  give  them  as  they 
happened,  and  if  they  furnish  no  ground  for 
hair- lifting  emotions,  they  will  at  least  show 
what  I  was  after  and  how  I  went. 

I  have  aimed  to  show  something  of  the  little 
aspects  of  the  creatures'  lives,  which  are  those 
that  the  ordinary  traveller  will  see;  I  go  with 
him  indeed,  pointing  out  my  friends  as  they  chance 
to  pass,  adding  a  few  comments  that  should  make 
for  a  better  acquaintance  on  all  sides.  And  I 
have  offered  glimpses,  wherever  possible,  of  the 
wild  thing  in  its  home,  embodying  in  these  chapters 
the  substance  of  many  lectures  given  under  the 
same  title  as  this  book. 

The  cover  design  is  by  my  wife,  Grace  Gallatin 
Seton.  She  was  with  me  in  most  of  the  experi- 
ences narrated  and  had  a  larger  share  in  every 
part  of  the  work  than  might  be  inferred  from  the 
mere  text. 

ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON. 


vii 


Contents 

PAGE 

L    The  Cute  Coyote i 

An  Exemplary  Little  Beast,  My  Friend 

the  Coyote 3 

The  Prairie-dog  Outwitted       ....  5 

The  Coyote's  Sense  of  Humour    ...  8 

His  Distinguishing  Gift n 

The  Coyote's  Song 13 

fl.    The  Prairie-dog:  and  His  Kin       ...  17 

Merry  Yek-Yek  and  His  Life  of  Troubles  19 

The  Whistler  in  the  Rocks      ....  22 

The  Pack-rat  and  His  Museum    ...  23 

A  Free  Trader 25 

The  Upheaver  —  The  Mole-Gopher    .     .  27 

IIL    Famous  Furbearers — Fox,  Marten,  Bea- 
ver and  Otter 29 

The  Most  Wonderful  Fur  in  the  World  32 

The  Poacher  and  the  Silver  Fox       ...  35 

The  Villain  in  Velvet  — The  Marten      .  47 

The  Industrious  Beaver 48 

The  Dam            51 

The  Otter  and  His  Slide 52 

Ex 


Contents 

PAGE 

IV.  Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed     .  55 

The  Bounding  Blacktail 57 

The  Mother  Blacktail's  Race  for  Life  59 

The  Blacktail's  Safety  Is  in  the  Hills  62 
The  Elk  or  Wapiti  — The  Noblest  of  all 

Deer 63 

Stalking  a  Band  of  Elk    ....  64 

The  Bugling  Elk 66 

Snapping  a  Charging  Bull      ...  69 

The  Hoodoo  Cow         72 

The  Moose  —  The  Biggest  of  all  Deer       .  75 

My  Partner's  Moose-hunt      ...  76 

The  Siren  Call 77 

The  Biggest  of  Our  Game  —  The  Buffalo  80 

The  Shrunken  Range 81 

The  Doomed  Antelope  and  His  Heliograph  83 

The  Rescued  Bighorn 85 

V.  Bats  in  the  Devtf's  Kitchen  ....  89 

VL    The  Well-meaning  Skunk   ....  95 

His  Smell-gun 98 

The  Cruelty  of  Steel  Traps     ....  99 

Friendliness  of  the  Skunk 100 

Photographing  Skunks  at  Short  Range  .  101 

We  Share  the  Shanty  with  the  Skunks  .  103 

The  Skunk  and  the  Unwise  Bobcat        .  104 

My  Pet  Skunks 106 


Contents 

MM 

VIL    Old  Silver-grille— The  Badger    .     .  in 

The  Valiant  Harmless  Badger       .     .     .  112 

His  Sociable  Bent 115 

The  Story  of  the  Kindly  Badger       .     .  116 

The  Evil  One 118 

The  Badger  that  Rescued  the  Boy  119 

Finding  the  Lost  One 123 

Home  Again 125 

The  Human  Brute 129 

VIIL    The     Squirrel    and    His    Jerky-tail 

Brothers 133 

The  Cheeky  Pine  Squirrel 134 

Chipmunks  and  Ground-squirrels  .      .     .  137 

The  Ground-squirrel  that  Plays  Picket-pin  137 

Chink  and  the  Picket-pins       ....  139 

Chipmunks 141 

The  Ground-squirrel  that  Pretends  It's  a 

Chipmunk 142 

A  Four-legged  Bird  —  The  Northern  Chip- 
munk        143 

A  Striped  Pigmy  —  The  Least  Chipmunk  147 

IX.    The  Rabbits  and  Their  Habits  .     .     .  151 

Molly  Cottontail  —  The  Clever  Freezer  .  152 

The  Rabbit  that  Wears  Snowshoes    .     .154 

The  Terror  of  the  Mountain  Trails  156 

Bunny's  Ride 158 

zi 


Contents 

PACK 

The  Rabbit  Dance 160 

The  Ghost  Rabbit 163 

A  Narrow-gauge  Mule  —  The  Prairie  Hare  164 

The  Bump  of  Moss  that  Squeaks      .     .  165 

The  Weatherwise  Coney    ....  169 

His  Safety  Is  in  the  Rocks    .     .     .  171 

X.    Ghosts  of  the  Campf ire 175 

The  Jumpirg  Mouse 177 

The  Calling  Mouse 179 

XL  Sneak-cats,  Big  and  Small  ....  185 

The  Bobcat  or  Mountain  Wildcat  .  .  .  186 

Misunderstood  —  The  Canada  Lynx  .  .  187 

The  Shyest  Thing  in  the  Woods  .  .  189 

The  Time  I  Met  a  Lion 191 

In  Peril  of  My  Life 194 

The  Dangerous  Night  Visitor      .     .  196 

XIL    Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree      .     .  201 

The  Different  Kinds  of  Bears       .     .     .  202 

Bear-trees 203 

A  Peep  Into  Bear  Family  Life     ...  204 

The  Day  at  the  Garbage  Pile      ...  208 

Lonesome  Johnny 210 

Further  Annals  of  the  Sanctuary      ...  210 

The  Grizzly  and  the  Can 216 

Appendix:  Mammals  of  Yellowstone  Park  221 
m 


List  of  Half-tone  Plates 

A  Prairie-dog  town Frontispiece 

FACINGlPAGE 

Chink's   adventures   with   the   Coyote  and  the 

Picket-pin 8 

(a)  The  Whistler  watching  me  from  the  rocks 

(b)  A  young  Whistler 9 

Red  Fox 32 

Foxes  quarrelling 33 

Beaver        48 

Mule-deer 49 

Blacktail  Family 60 

Blacktail  mother  with  her  twins 61 

A  young  investigator  among  the  Deer  at  Fort 

Yellowstone 64 

Elk  in  Wyoming 65 

Elk  on  the  Yellowstone  in  Winter     ....  68 

The  first  shots  at  the  Hoodoo  Cow    ....  69 

The  last  shots  at  the  Hoodoo  Cow     ....  76 

Elk  on  the  Yellowstone        .......  77 

Moose— The  Widow 80 

xiii 


List  of  Half-tone  Plates 

FACING  PAGE 

Buffalo  groups 81 

Near  Yellowstone  Gate 84 

Mountain  Sheep  on  Mt.  Evarts 85 

Track  record    of   Bobcat's  adventure   with   a 

Skunk 98 

The  six  chapters  of  the  Bobcat' s  adventure       .  102 

My  tame  Skunks 103 

Red-squirrel  storing  mushrooms  for  winter  use  134 

Chink  stalking  the  Picket-pin 135 

The  Snowshoe  Hare  is  a  cross  between  a  Rab- 
bit and  a  Snowdrift 150 

The  Cottontail  freezing 151 

The  Baby  Cottontail  that  rode  twenty  miles  in 

my  hat 162 

Snowshoe   Rabbits  dancing  in  the  light  of  the 

lantern 163 

Snowshoe  Rabbits  fascinated  by  the  lantern       .  170 

The  Ghost  Rabbit 171 

The  Coney  or  Calling  Hare 178 

The  Coney  barns  full  of  hay  stored  for  winter 

use 179 

ztv 


List  of  Half-tone  Plates 

FACING  PACE 

(a)  Tracks  of  Deer  escaping;  and  (b)Tracks  of 

Mountain  Lion  in  pursuit 186 

The  Mountain  Lion  sneaking  around  us  as  we 

sleep 187 

Sketch  of  the  Bear  Family  as  made  on  the  spot       198 
Two  pages  from  my  journal  in  the  garbage  heap       199 

While  I  sketched  the  Bears,  a  brother  camera- 
hunter  was  stalking  me  without  my  knowledge      206 

One  meets  the  Bears  at  nearly  every  turn  in  the 

woods , 207 

The  shyer  ones  take  to  a  tree,  if  one  comes  too 

near 210 

Clifford  B.  Harmon  feeding  a  Bear     ....       211 
The  Bears  at  feeding  time 218 

(a)  Tom  Newcomb    pointing  out   the  bear's 

mark,      (b)  E.  T.  Seton  feeding  a  Bear       .       219 

Johnnie  Bear:    his  sins  and  his  troubles    .     .     .       222 
Johnnie  happy  at  last 223 


I 

The  Cute  Coyote 


I 

The  Cute  Coyote 

AN    EXEMPLARY    LITTLE    BEAST,    MY    FRIEND    THE 
COYOTE 

IF  YOU  draw  a  line  around  the  region  that 
is,  or  was,  known  as  the  Wild  West,  you 
will  find  that  you  have  exactly  outlined  the 
kingdom  of  the  Coyote.  He  is  even  yet  found 
in  every  part  of  it,  but,  unlike  his  big  brother 
the  Wolf,  he  never  frequented  the  region  known 
as  Eastern  America. 

This  is  one  of  the  few  wild  creatures  that  you 
can  see  from  the  train.  Each  time  I  have  come 
to  the  Yellowstone  Park  I  have  discovered  the 
swift  gray  form  of  the  Coyote  among  the  Prairie- 
dog  towns  along  the  River  flat  between  Living- 
stone and  Gardiner,  and  in  the  Park  itself  have 
seen  him  nearly  every  day,  and  heard  him  every 
night  without  exception. 

Coyote  (pronounced  Ky-o'-tay,  and  in  some  re- 


The  Cute  Coyote 

gions  Ky-ute)  is  a  native  Mexican  contribution 
to  the  language,  and  is  said  to  mean  "halfbreed," 
possibly  suggesting  that  the  Coyote  looks  like  a 
cross  between  the  Fox  and  the  Wolf.  Such  an 
origin  would  be  a  very  satisfactory  clue  to  his  char- 
acter, for  he  does  seem  to  unite  in  himself  every 
possible  attribute  in  the  mental  make-up  of  the 
other  two  that  can  contribute  to  his  success  in  life. 

He  is  one  of  the  few  Park  animals  not  now  pro- 
tected, for  the  excellent  reasons,  first  that  he  is 
so  well  able  to  protect  himself,  second  he  is  even 
already  too  numerous,  third  he  is  so  destructive 
among  the  creatures  that  he  can  master.  He  is  a 
beast  of  rare  cunning;  some  of  the  Indians  call  him 
God's  dog  or  Medicine  dog.  Some  make  hini  the 
embodiment  of  the  Devil,  and  some  going  still 
further,  in  the  light  of  their  larger  experience,  make 
the  Coyote  the  Creator  himself  seeking  amusement 
in  disguise  among  his  creatures,  just  as  did  the 
Sultan  in  the  "Arabian  Nights." 

The  naturalist  finds  the  Coyote  interesting  for 
other  reasons.  When  you  see  that  sleek  gray 
and  yellow  form  among  the  mounds  of  the  Prairie- 
dog,  at  once  creating  a  zone  of  blankness  and 
silence  by  his  very  presence  as  he  goes,  remember 
that  he  is  hunting  for  something  to  eat;  also, 
that  there  is  another,  his  mate,  not  far  away. 


The  Ctrte  Coyote 

For  the  Coyote  is  an  exemplary  and  moral  little 
beast  who  has  only  one  wife;  he  loves  her  devotedly, 
and  they  fight  the  life  battle  together.  Not 
only  is  there  sure  to  be  a  mate  close  by,  but  that 
mate,  if  invisible,  is  likely  to  be  playing  a  game, 
a  very  clever  game  as  I  have  seen  it  played. 

Furthermore,  remember  there  is  a  squealing 
brood  of  little  Coyotes  in  the  home  den  up  on  a 
hillside  a  mile  or  two  away.  Father  and  mother 
must  hunt  continually  and  successfully  to  furnish 
their  daily  food.  The  dog-towns  are  their  game 
preserves,  but  how  are  they  to  catch  a  Prairie- 
dog!  Every  one  knows  that  though  these  little 
yapping  Ground-squirrels  will  sit  up  and  bark  at 
an  express  train  but  twenty  feet  away,  they  scuttle 
down  out  of  sight  the  moment  a  man,  dog  or 
Coyote  enters  into  the  far  distant  precincts  of 
their  town;  and  downstairs  they  stay  in  the  cyclone 
cellar  until  after  a  long  interval  of  quiet  that  prob- 
ably proves  the  storm  to  be  past.  Then  they 
poke  their  prominent  eyes  above  the  level,  and, 
if  all  is  still,  will  softly  hop  out  and  in  due  course, 
resume  their  feeding. 

THE  PRAIRIE-DOG  OUTWITTED 

This  is  how  the  clever  Coyote  utilizes  these 
habits.  He  and  his  wife  approach  the  dog-town 

,5 


The  Cote  Coyote 


unseen.  One  Coyote  hides,  then  the  other  walks 
forward  openly  into  the  town.  There  is  a  great 
barking  of  all  the  Prairie-dogs  as  they  see  their 
enemy  approach,  but  they  dive  down  when  he 
is  amongst  them.  As  soon  as  they  are  out  of 
sight  the  second  Coyote  rushes  forward  and  hides 
near  any  promising  hole  that  happens  to  have 
some  sort  of  cover  close  by.  Meanwhile,  Coyote 
number  one  strolls  on.  The  Prairie-dogs  that 
he  scared  below  come  up  again.  At  first  each 
puts  up  the  top  of  his  head  merely,  with  his 
eyes  on  bumps,  much  like  those  of  a  hippopotamus, 
prominent  and  peculiarly  suited  for  this  observa- 
tion work  from  below,  as  they  are  the  first  things 
above  ground.  After  a  brief  inspection,  if  all 
be  quiet,  he  comes  out  an  inch  more.  Now  he 
can  look  around,  the  coast  is  clear,  so  he  sits  up 
on  the  mound  and  scans  his  surroundings. 

Yes!  Ho!  Ho!  he  sees  his  enemy,  that  hated 
Coyote,  strolling  away  off  beyond  the  possibility 
of  doing  harm.  His  confidence  is  fully  restored 
as  the  Coyote  gets  smaller  in  the  distance  and  the 
other  Prairie-dogs  coming  out  seem  to  endorse 
his  decision  and  give  him  renewed  confidence. 
After  one  or  two  false  starts,  he  sets  off  to  feed. 
This  means  go  ten  or  twenty  feet  from  the  door  of 
his  den,  for  all  the  grass  is  eaten  off  near  home. 


The  Cute  Coyote 

Among  the  herbage  he  sits  up  high  to  take  a 
final  look  around,  then  burying  his  nose  in  the 
fodder,  he  begins  his  meal.  This  is  the  chance 
that  the  waiting,  watching,  she-Coyote  counted 
on.  There  is  a  flash  of  gray  fur  from  behind  that 
little  grease  bush;  in  three  hops  she  is  upon  him. 
He  takes  alarm  at  the  first  sound  and  tries  to  reach 
the  haven  hole,  but  she  snaps  him  up.  With  a 
shake  she  ends  his  troubles.  He  hardly  knows  the 
pain  of  death,  then  she  bounds  away  on  her  back 
track  to  the  home  den  on  the  distant  hillside.  She 
does  not  come  near  it  openly  and  rashly.  There  is 
always  the  possibility  of  such  an  approach  be- 
traying the  family  to  some  strong  enemy  on  watch. 
She  circles  around  a  little,  scrutinizes  the  landscape, 
Studies  the  tracks  and  the  wind,  then  comes  to 
the  door  by  more  or  less  devious  hidden  ways. 
The  sound  of  a  foot  outside  is  enough  to  make  the 
little  ones  cower  in  absolute  silence,  but  mother 
reassures  them  with  a  whining  call  much  like 
that  of  a  dog  mother.  They  rush  out,  tumbling 
over  each  other  in  their  glee,  six  or  seven  in  number 
usually,  but  sometimes  as  high  as  ten  or  twelve. 
Eagerly  they  come,  and  that  fat  Prairie-dog  lasts 
perhaps  three  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
nothing  is  left  but  the  larger  bones  with  a  little 
Coyote  busy  polishing  each  of  them.  Strewn 


The  Ctrte  Coyote 

about  the  door  of  the  den  are  many  other  kindred 
souvenirs,  the  bones  of  Ground-squirrels,  Chip- 
munks, Rabbits,  Grouse,  Sheep,  and  Fawns,  with 
many  kinds  of  feathers,  fur,  and  hair,  to  show  the 
great  diversity  of  Coyote  diet. 

THE  COYOTE'S  SENSE  OF  HUMOUR 

To  understand  the  Coyote  fully  one  must  remem- 
ber that  he  is  simply  a  wild  dog,  getting  his  living 
by  his  wits,  and  saving  his  life  by  the  tireless  ser- 
viceability of  his  legs;  so  has  developed  both  these 
gifts  to  an  admirable  pitch  of  perfection.  He  is 
blessed  further  with  a  gift  of  music  and  a  sense  of 
humour. 

When  I  lived  at  Yancey's,  on  the  Yellowstone,  in 
1897, 1  had  a  good  example  of  the  latter,  and  had  it 
daily  for  a  time.  The  dog  attached  to  the  camp  on 
the  inner  circle  was  a  conceited,  irrepressible  little 
puppy  named  Chink.  He  was  so  full  of  energy, 
enthusiasm,  and  courage  that  there  was  no  room 
left  in  him  for  dog-sense.  But  it  came  after  a  vast 
number  of  humiliating  experiences. 

A  Coyote  also  had  attached  himself  to  the  camp, 
but  on  the  outer  circle.  At  first  he  came  out  by 
night  to  feed  on  the  garbage  pile,  but  realizing  the 
peace  of  the  Park  he  became  bolder  and  called 
occasionally  by  day.  Later  he  was  there  every 
8 


iv.     (a) The  Whistler  watching  me  from  the  rocks,     (b)  A  young 
Whistler 


The  Cote  Coyote 

day,  and  was  often  seen  sitting  on  a  ridge  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  away. 

One  day  he  was  sitting  much  nearer  and  grinning 
in  Coyote  fashion,  when  one  of  the  campers  in  a 
spirit  of  mischief  said  to  the  dog,  "Chink,  you  see 
that  Coyote  out  there  grinning  at  you.  Go  and 
chase  him  out  of  that. " 

Burning  to  distinguish  himself,  that  pup  set  off 
at  full  speed,  and  every  time  he  struck  the  ground 
he  let  off  a  war-whoop.  Away  went  the  Coyote  and 
it  looked  like  a  good  race  to  us,  and  to  the  Picket- 
pin  Ground-squirrels  that  sat  up  high  on  their 
mounds  to  rejoice  in  the  spectacle  of  these,  their 
enemies,  warring  against  each  other. 

The  Coyote  has  a  way  of  slouching  along,  his  tai] 
dangling  and  tangling  with  his  legs,  and  his  legs 
loose-jointed,  mixing  with  his  tail.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  work  hard  but  oh!  how  he  does  cover  the 
prairie !  And  very  soon  it  was  clear  that  in  spite  of 
his  magnificent  bounds  and  whoops  of  glory,  Chink 
was  losing  ground.  A  little  later  the  Coyote 
obviously  had  to  slack  up  to  keep  from  running 
away  altogether.  It  had  seemed  a  good  race  for  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the  race 
which  began  when  the  Coyote  turned  on  Chink. 
Uttering  a  gurgling  growl,  a  bark,  and  a  couple  of 
screeches,  he  closed  in  with  all  the  combined  fury  of 


The  Cute  Coyote 


conscious  might  and  right,  pitted  against  unfair 
unprovoked  attack. 

And  Chink  had  a  rude  awakening;  his  war- 
whoops  gave  place  to  yelps  of  dire  distress,  as  he 
wheeled  and  made  for  home.  But  the  Coyote 
could  run  all  around  him,  and  nipped  him,  here 
and  there,  and  when  he  would,  and  seemed  to  be 
cracking  a  series  of  good  jokes  at  Chink's  expense, 
nor  ever  stopped  till  the  ambitious  one  of  boundless 
indiscretion  was  hidden  under  his  master's  bed. 

This  seemed  very  funny  at  the  time,  and  I  am 
afraid  Chink  did  not  get  the  sympathy  he  was  en- 
titled to,  for  after  all  he  was  merely  carrying  out 
orders.  But  he  made  up  his  mind  that  from  that 
time  on,  orders  or  no  orders,  he  would  let  Coyotes 
very  much  alone.  They  were  not  so  easy  as  they 
looked. 

The  Coyote,  however,  had  discovered  a  new 
amusement.  From  that  day  he  simply  "laid" 
for  that  little  dog,  and  if  he  found  him  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  from  camp,  would  chase  and  race  him 
back  in  terror  to  some  shelter.  At  last  things  got 
so  bad  that  if  we  went  for  a  ride  even,  and  Chink 
followed  us,  the  Coyote  would  come  along,  too,  and 
continue  his  usual  amusement. 

At  first  it  was  funny,  and  then  it  became  tedious, 
and  at  last  it  was  deeply  resented  by  Chink's 


The  Cute  Coyote 

master.  A  man  feels  for  his  dog;  he  wasn't  going 
to  stand  still  and  see  his  dog  abused.  He  began  to 
grumble  vaguely  about  "If  something  didn't  hap- 
pen pretty  soon,  something  else  would."  Just 
what  he  meant  I  didn't  ask,  but  I  know  that  the 
Coyote  disappeared  one  day,  and  never  was  seen 
or  heard  of  again.  I'm  not  supposed  to  know  any 
thing  about  it,  but  I  have  my  suspicions,  although 
in  those  days  the  Coyote  was  a  protected  animal. 

HIS  DISTINGUISHING  GIFT 

The  scientific  name  of  the  Coyote  (Canis  latrans), 
literally  "Barking  Dog, "  is  given  for  the  wonderful 
yapping  chorus  with  which  they  seldom  fail  to 
announce  their  presence  in  the  evening,  as  they 
gather  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  campfire. 
Those  not  accustomed  to  the  sound  are  very  ready 
to  think  that  they  are  surrounded  by  a  great  pack 
of  ravening  Wolves,  and  get  a  sufficiently  satis- 
factory thrill  of  mingled  emotions  at  the  sound. 
But  the  guide  will  reassure  you  by  saying  that  that 
great  pack  of  howling  Wolves  is  nothing  more  than 
a  harmless  little  Coyote,  perhaps  two,  singing  their 
customary  vesper  song,  demonstrating  their  won- 
derful vocal  powers.  Their  usual  music  begins  witk 
a  few  growling,  gurgling  yaps  which  are  rapidly 
increased  in  volume  and  heightened  in  pitch,  until 
ii 


The  Cote  Coyote 

they  rise  into  a  long  squall  or  scream,  which  again, 
as  it  dies  away,  breaks  up  into  a  succession  of  yap3 
and  gurgles.  Usually  one  Coyote  begins  it,  and 
the  others  join  in  with  something  like  agreement 
on  the  scream. 

I  believe  I  never  yet  camped  in  the  West  without 
hearing  this  from  the  near  hills  when  night  time  had 
come.  Last  September  I  even  heard  it  back  of  the 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs  Hotel,  and  I  must  say  I 
have  learned  to  love  it.  It  is  a  wild,  thrilling, 
beautiful  song.  Our  first  camp  was  at  Yancey's 
last  summer  and  just  after  we  had  all  turned  in,  the 
Coyote  chorus  began,  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
from  the  camp.  My  wife  sat  up  and  exclaimed, 
"Isn't  it  glorious?  now  I  know  we  are  truly  back  in 
the  West." 

The  Park  authorities  are  making  great  efforts  to 
reduce  the  number  of  Coyotes  because  of  their 
destructiveness  to  the  young  game,  but  an  animal 
that  is  endowed  with  extraordinary  wits,  phenom- 
enal speed,  unexcelled  hardihood,  and  marvellous 
fecundity,  is  not  easily  downed.  I  must  confess 
that  if  by  any  means  they  should  succeed  in 
exterminating  the  Coyote  in  the  West,  I  should 
feel  that  I  had  lost  something  of  very  great  value. 
I  never  fail  to  get  that  joyful  thrill  when  the 
"Medicine  Dogs"  sing  their  "Medicine  Song" 
12 


The  C«te  Coyote 

fn  the  dusk,  or  the  equally  weird  and  thrilling 
chorus  with  which  they  greet  the  dawn;  for  they 
have  a  large  repertoire  and  a  remarkable  register. 
The  Coyote  is  indeed  the  Patti  of  the  Plains. 

THE  COYOTE'S  SONG* 

I  am  the  Coyote  that  sings  each  night  at  dark; 
It  was  by  gobbling  prairie-dogs  that  I  got  such 

a  bark. 

At  least  a  thousand  prairie-dogs  I  fattened  on,  you  see, 
And  every  bark  they  had  in  them  is  reproduced 
in  me. 

Refrain: 

I  can  sing  to  thrill  your  soul  or  pierce  it  like  a  lance* 
And  all  I  ask  of  you  to  do  is  give  me  half  a  chance. 
With  a  yap  —  yap  —  yap  for  the  morning 
And  a  yoop  —  yoop  —  yoop  for  the  night 
And  a  yow  —  wow  —  wow  for  the  rising  moon 
And  a  yah-h-h-h  for  the  campfire  light. 
Yap  —  yoop  —  yow  —  yahhh! 

I  gathered  from  the  howling  winds,  the  frogs  and 

crickets  too, 
And  so  from  each  availing  fount,  my  inspiration 

drew. 

I  warbled  till  the  little  birds  would  quit  their  native 
bush. 
And  squat  around  me  on  the  ground  in  reverential 

hush. 
Refrain: 
*A1J  rigbtt  reserved. 


The  Cute  Coyote 

I'm  a  baritone  soprano,  and  a  bass  and  tenor,  too. 
I  can  thrill  and  slur  and  frill  and  whirr  and  shake 

you  through  and  through. 
I'm  a  Jews'  harp  —  I'm  an  organ  —  I'm  a  fiddle  and  a 

flute. 

Every  kind  of  touching  sound  is  found  in    the 
coyoot. 

Refrain: 

I'm  a  whooping  howling  wilderness,  a  sort  of  Malibran. 
With  Lind,  Labache  and  Melba  mixed  and  all  com- 
bined in  one. 

I'm  a  grand  cathedral  organ  and  a  calliope  sharp, 
I'm  a  gushing,  trembling  nightingale,  a  vast  ^Eolian 
harp. 

Refrain: 

I  can  raise  the  dead  or  paint  the  town,  or  pierce  you 

like  a  lance 
And  all  I  ask  of  you  to  do  is  to  give  me  half  a 

chance. 
Etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

(Encore  verses) 

Although  I  am  a  miracle,  I'm  not  yet  recognized. 
Oh,  when  the  world  does  waken  up  how  highly 

I'll  be  prized. 

Then  managers  and  vocal  stars  — and  emperors  effete 
Shall  fling  their  crowns,  their  money  bags,  their 
persons,  at  my  feet. 

Refrain: 

14 


The  Cute  Coyote 

Tm  the  voice  of  all  the  Wildest  West,  the  Patti  of  the 

Plains; 

I'm  a  wild  Wagnerian  opera  of  diabolic  strains; 
I'm  a  roaring,  ranting   orchestra   with  lunatics  be- 

crammed; 
I'm  a  vocalized  tornado  —  I'm  the  shrieking  of  the 

damned. 
Refrain: 


f       I 

A( 


S\         >~|    i**1"^          f        A 

HW<JV/>  f 


n 

The  Prairie-dog 
and    His    Kin 


n 

The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

MERRY   YEK-YEK   AND   HIS   LIFE   OF   TROUBLES 

THE  common  Prairie-dog  is  typical  of  the 
West,  more  so  than  the  Buffalo  is,  and  its 
numbers,  even  now,  rival  those  of  the 
Buffalo  in  its  palmiest  days.  I  never  feel  that 
I  am  truly  back  on  the  open  range  till  I  hear  their 
call  and  see  the  Prairie-dogs  once  more  upon  their 
mounds.  As  you  travel  up  the  Yellowstone 
Valley  from  Livingstone  to  Gardiner  you  may  note 
in  abundance  this  "dunce  of  the  plains."  The 
"dog-towns"  are  frequent  along  the  railway,  and 
at  each  of  the  many  burrows  you  see  from  one  to 
six  of  the  inmates.  As  you  come  near  Gardiner 
there  is  a  steady  rise  of  the  country,  and  somewhere 
near  the  edge  of  the  Park  the  elevation  is  such 
that  it  imposes  one  of  those  mysterious  barriers 
to  animal  extension  which  seem  to  be  as  impas- 
sable as  they  are  invisible.  The  Prairie-dog 
range  ends  near  the  Park  gates.  General  George 


The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

S.  Anderson  tells  me,  however,  that  individuals  are 
occasionally  found  on  the  flats  along  the  Gardi- 
ner River,  but  always  near  the  gate,  and  never 
elsewhere  in  the  Park.  On  this  basis,  then,  the 
Prairie-dog  is  entered  as  a  Park  animal. 

It  is,  of  course,  a  kind  of  Ground-squirrel.  The 
absurd  name  "dog"  having  been  given  on  account 
of  its  "bark."  This  call  is  a  high-pitched  "yek- 
yek-yek-yeeh,"  uttered  as  an  alarm  cry  while  the 
creature  sits  up  on  the  mound  by  its  den,  and  every 
time  it  "yeks"  it  jerks  up  its  tail.  Old  timers  will 
tell  you  that  the  Prairie-dog's  voice  is  tied  to  its  tail, 
and  prove  it  by  pointing  out  that  one  is  never  raised 
without  the  other. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  Coyote  looks  on  the  dog- 
,  town  much  as  a  cow  does  on  a  field  of  turnips  or 
alfalfa  —  a  very  proper  place,  to  seek  for  whole- 
some, if  commonplace,  sustenance.  But  Coyotes 
are  not  the  only  troubles  in  the  life  of  Yek-yek. 

Ancient  books  and  interesting  guides  will  regale 
the  traveller  with  most  acceptable  stories  about  the 
Prairie-dog,  Rattlesnake, 'and  the  Burrowing  Owl,  all 
living  in  the  same  den  on  a  basis  of  brotherly 
love  and  Christian  charity;  having  effected,  it 
would  seem,  a  limited  partnership  and  a  most 
satisfactory  division  of  labour:  the  Prairie-dog 
is  to  dig  the  hole,  the  Owl  to  mount  sentry  and  give 
20 


The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

warning  of  all  danger,  and  the  Rattler  is  to  be 
ready  to  die  at  his  post  as  defender  of  the  Prairie- 
dog's  young.  This  is  pleasing  if  true. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  at  times  all  three 
live  in  the  same  burrow,  and  in  dens  that  the  hard- 
working rodent  first  made.  But  the  simple  fact 
is  that  the  Owl  and  the  Snake  merely  use  the  holes 
abandoned  (perhaps  under  pressure)  by  the  Prairie- 
dog;  and  if  any  two  of  the  three  underground  worth- 
ies happen  to  meet  in  the  same  hole,  the  fittest  sur- 
vives. I  suspect  further  that  the  young  of  each 
kind  are  fair  game  and  acceptable,  dainty  diet  to 
each  of  the  other  two. 

Farmers  consider  Prairie-dogs  a  great  nuisance; 
the  damage  they  do  to  crops  is  estimated  at 
millions  per  annum.  The  best  way  to  get  rid  of 
them,  practically  the  only  way,  is  by  putting  poison  ( 
down  each  and  every  hole  in  the  town,  which 
medieval  Italian  mode  has  become  the  accepted 
method  in  the  West. 

Poor  helpless  little  Yek-yek,  he  has  no  friends; 
his  enemies  and  his  list  of  burdens  increase.  The 
prey  of  everything  that  preys,  he  yet  seems  inca* 
pable  of  any  measure  of  retaliation.  The  only 
visible  joy  in  his  life  is  his  daily  hasty  meal  of  un- 
succulent  grass,  gathered  between  cautious  looks 
around  for  an"  new  approaching  trouble,  and  bro- 


The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

ken  by  so  many  dodges  down  the  narrow  hole  that 
his  ears  are  worn  off  close  to  his  head.  Could  any 
simpler,  smaller  pleasure  than  his  be  discovered? 
Yet  he  is  fat  and  merry;  undoubtedly  he  enjoys 
his  every  day  on  earth,  and  is  as  unwilling  as  any 
of  us  to  end  the  tale.  We  can  explain  him  only  if 
we  credit  him  with  a  philosophic  power  to  discover 
happiness  within  in  spite  of  all  the  cold  unfriendly 
world  about  him. 

THE  WHISTLER  IN  THE  ROCKS 

,»»*'l|^v.w-'  When  the  far-off  squirrel  ancestor  of  Yek-yek 
took  to  the  plains  for  a  range,  another  of  the  family 
selected  the  rocky  hills. 

He  developed  bigger  claws  for  the  harder  digging, 
redder  colour  for  the  red-orange  surroundings,  and 
a  far  louder  and  longer  cry  for  signalling  across  the 
peaks  and  canyons,  and  so  became  the  bigger,  hand- 
somer, more  important  creature  we  call  the  Moun- 
tain Whistler,  Yellow  Marmot  or  Orange  Wood- 
chuck. 

In  all  of  the  rugged  mountain  parts  of  the  Yel- 
lowstone one  may  hear  his  peculiar,  shrill  whistle, 
especially  in  the  warm  mornings. 

You  carefully  locate  the  direction  of  the  note  and 
proceed  to  climb  toward  it.  You  may  have  an 
hour's  hard  work  before  you  sight  the  orange- 
22  ... 


The  Pf afrfe-dos  and  His  Km 

breasted  Whistler  among  the  tumbled  mass  of  rocks 
that  surround  his  home,  for  it  is  a  far-reaching 
sound,  heard  half  a  mile  away  at  times. 

rhose  who  know  the  Groundhog  of  the  East 
would  recognize  in  the  Rock  Woodchuck  its  West- 
ern cousin,  a  little  bigger,  yellower,  and  brighter  in 
its  colours,  living  in  the  rocks  and  blessed  with  a 
whistle  that  would  fill  a  small  boy  with  envy.  Now, 
lest  the  critical  should  object  to  the  combination 
name  of  "Rock  Woodchuck,"  it  is  well  to  remind 
them  that  "Woodchuck"  has  nothing  to  do  with 
either  "wood "or  "chucking,"  but  is  our  corrupted 
form  of  an  Indian  name  "Ot-choeck,"  which  is 
sometimes  written  also  "We- jack." 

In  the  ridge  of  broken  rocks  just  back  of  Yancey's 
is  a  colony  of  the  Whistlers;  and  there  as  I  sat 
sketching  one  day,  with  my  camera  at  hand,  one 
poked  his  head  up  near  me  and  gave  me  the  pose 
that  is  seen  hi  the  photograph. 

THE  PACK-RAT  AND  HIS  MUSEUM 

Among  my  school  fellows  was  a  boy  named  Waddy 
who  had  a  mania  for  collecting  odds,  ends,  curios, 
bits  of  brass  or  china,  shiny  things,  pebbles,  fungus, 
old  prints,  bones,  business  cards,  carved  peach 
stones,  twisted  roots,  distorted  marbles,  or  freak 
buttons.  Anything  odd  or  glittering  was  his  especial 

23 


Tne  Pf  airie-do£  and  His  Kin 

joy.  He  had  no  theory  about  these  things.  He 
did  not  do  anything  in  particular  with  them.  He 
found  gratification  in  spreading  them  out  to  gloat 
over,  but  I  think  his  chief  joy  was  in  the  collecting. 
And  when  some  comrade  was  found  possessed  of 
a  novelty  that  stirred  his  cupidity,  the  pleasure  of 
planning  a  campaign  to  secure  possession,  the  work- 
ing out  of  the  details,  and  the  glory  of  success,  were 
more  to  Waddy  than  any  other  form  of  riches  or 
exploit. 

The  Pack-rat  is  the  Waddy  of  the  mountains,  or 
Waddy  was  the  Pack-rat  of  the  school.  Imagine,  if 
you  would  picture  the  Pack- rat,  a  small  creature  like 
a  common  rat,  but  with  soft  fur,  a  bushy  tail,  and 
soulful  eyes,  living  the  life  of  an  ordinary  rat  in  the 
woods,  except  that  it  has  an  extraordinary  mania 
for  collecting  curios. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  began  in  the 
nest-building  idea,  and  then,  because  it  was  neces- 
sary to  protect  his  home,  cactus  leaves  and  thorny 
branches  were  piled  on  it.  The  instinct  grew  until 
to-day  the  nest  of  a  Pack-rat  is  a  massof  rubbishfrom 
one  to  four  feet  high,  and  four  to  eight  feet  across. 
I  have  examined  many  of  these  collections.  They  are 
usually  around  the  trunks  in  a  clump  of  low  trees, 
and  consist  of  a  small  central  nest  about  eight 
inches  across,  warm  and  soft,  with  a  great  mass  of 

24 


The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

sticks  and  thorns  around  and  over  this,  leaving  a 
narrow  entrance  well-guarded  by  an  array  of  cactus 
spines;  then  on  top  of  all,  a  most  wonderful  col- 
lection of  pine  cones,  shells,  pebbles,  bones,  scraps 
of  paper  and  tin,  and  the  skulls  of  other  animals. 
And  when  the  owner  can  add  to  these  works  of  art 
or  vertu  a  brass  cartridge,  a  buckle  or  a  copper  rivet, 
his  little  bosom  is  doubtless  filled  with  the  same  high 
joy  that  any  great  collector  might  feel  on  securing  a 
Raphael  or  a  Rembrandt. 

I  remember  finding  an  old  pipe  in  one  Rat  mu- 
seum. Pistol  cartridges  are  eagerly  sought  after,  so 
are  saddle  buckles,  even  if  he  has  to  cut  them  sur- 
reptitiously from  the  saddle  of  some  camper.  And 
when  any  of  these  articles  are  found  *nissing  it  is 
usual  to  seek  out  the  nearest  Rat  house,  and  here 
commonly  the  stolen  goods  are  discovered  shame- 
lessly exposed  on  top.  I  remember  hearing  of  a  set 
of  false  teeth  that  were  lost  in  camp,  but  rescued  in 
this  very  way. 

A    FREE   TRADER 

"Pack"  is  a  Western  word  meaning  "carry," 
and  thus  the  Rat  that  carries  off  things  is  the  "Pack- 
rat."  But  it  has  another  peculiarity.  As  though  it 
had  a  conscience  disturbed  by  pilfering  the  treas- 
ure of  another,  it  often  brings  back  what  may  be 

2$ 


The  Pfairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

considered  a  fair  exchange.  Thus  a  silver-plated 
spoon  may  have  gone  from  its  associate  cup  one 
night,  but  in  that  cup  you  may  find  a  long  pine  cone 
or  a  surplus  nail,  by  which  token  you  may  know  that 
a  Pack-rat  has  called  and  collected.  Sometimes 
this  enthusiastic  fancier  goes  off  with  food,  but 
leaves  something  in  its  place ;  in  one  case  that  I  heard 
of,  the  Rat,  either  with  a  sense  of  humour  or  a  mis- 
taken idea  of  food  values,  after  having  carried  off 
the  camp  biscuit,  had  filled  the  vacant  dish  with  the 
round  pellets  known  as  "Elk  sign."  But  evidently 
there  is  a  disposition  to  deal  fair;  not  to  steal,  but 
to  trade.  For  this  reason  the  creature  is  widely 
known  as  the  "Trade  Rat." 

Although  I  have  known  the  Pack-rat  for  years  in 
the  mountains,  I  never  saw  one  within  the  strict  lines 
of  the  Yellowstone  sanctuary.  But  the  guides  all 
assure  me  that  they  are  found  and  manifest  the 
same  disposition  here  as  elsewhere.  So  that  if  you 
should  lose  sundry  bright  things  around  camp,  or 
some  morning  find  your  boots  stuffed  with  pebbles, 
deer  sign,  or  thorns,  do  not  turn  peevish  or  charge 
the  guide  with  folly;  it  means,  simply,  you  have  been 
visited  by  a  Mountain  Rat,  and  any  wweatables  you 
miss  will  doubtless  be  found  in  his  museum,  which 
will  be  discovered  within  a  hundred  yards —  a  mass 
of  sticks  and  rubbish  under  a  tree  — with  some 
26 


The  Prairie-dog  and  His  Kin 

bright  and  shiny  things  on  the  top  where  the  owner 
can  sit  amongst  them  on  sunny  days,  and  gloat  till 
his  little  black  eyes  are  a- swim,  and  his  small 
heart  filled  with  holy  joy. 

THE  UPHEAVER  —  THE  MOLE-GOPHER 

As  you  cross  any  of  the  level,  well-grassed 
prairie  regions  in  the  Yellowstone  you  will  see  piles 
of  soft  earth  thrown  up  in  little  hillocks,  some- 
times a  score  or  more  of  them  bunched  together. 
The  drivers  will  tell  you  that  these  are  mole- 
hills, which  isn't  quite  true.  For  the  Mole  is  a 
creature  unknown  in  the  Park,  and  the  animal 
that  makes  these  mounds  is  exceedingly  abundant. 
It  is  the  common  Mole-gopher,  a  gopher  related 
very  distantly  to  the  Prairie-dog  and  Mountain 
Whistler,  but  living  the  underground  life  of  a 
Mole,  though  not  even  in  the  same  order  as  that 
interesting  miner,  for  the  Mole-gopher  is  a  rodent 
(Order  Rodentid)  and  the  Mole  a  bug-eater  (Order 
Insectiwra) ;  just  as  different  as  Lion  and  Caribou. 

The  Mole-gopher  is  about  the  size  of  a  rat,  but 
has  a  short  tail  and  relatively  immense  forepaws 
and  claws.  It  is  indeed  wonderfully  developed  as 
a  digger. 

Examine  the  mound  of  earth  thrown  up.  If 
it  is  a  fair  example,  it  will  make  fully  half  a  bushel. 


The  Pfaifie-dog  and  His  Kin 

Next  count  the  mounds  that  are  within  a  radius  of 
fifty  paces;  probably  all  are  the  work  of  this 
Gopher,  or  rather  this  pair,  for  they  believe  in 
team  play. 

Search  over  the  ground  carefully,  and  you  will 
discern  that  there  are  scores  of  ancient  mounds 
flattened  by  the  weather,  and  traces  of  hundreds, 
perhaps,  that  date  from  remote  years. 

Now  multiply  the  size  of  one  mound  by  the 
number  of  mounds,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of 
the  work  done  by  this  pair.  Finally,  remembering 
that  there  may  be  a  pair  of  Gophers  for  every  acre 
in  the  Park,  estimate  the  tons  of  earth  moved 
by  one  pair  and  multiply  it  by  the  acres  in  the 
Park,  and  you  will  get  an  idea  of  the  work  done 
by  those  energetic  rodents  as  a  body,  and  you  will 
realize  how  well  he  has  won  his  Indian  name,  the 
"Upheaver." 

We  are  accustomed  to  talk  of  upheaval  in  geol- 
ogy as  a  frightful  upset  of  all  nature,  but  here 
before  our  eyes  is  going  on  an  upheaval  of  enormous 
extent  and  importance,  but  so  gently  and  pleas- 
antly done  that  we  enjoy  every  phase  of  the  process. 


m 

Famous  Fur- 
bearers  — 


m 

Famous  Fur-bearers 

FOX,  MARTEN,  BEAVER,  AND  OTTER 

FAIR  Lady  Multo  Millionaire  riding  in  the 
dusty  stagecoach,  comparing  as  you  go  the 
canyons  of  the  Yellowstone  with  memories 
of  Colorado,  Overland,  and  Stalheim,  you,  in  your 
winter  home,  know  all  about  fur  as  it  enters  your 
world  with  its  beauty,  its  warmth,  its  price  —  its 
gauge  of  the  wearer's  pocket.    Let  me  add  a 
segment  of  the  circle  to  round  your  knowledge 
out. 

When  nature  peopled  with  our  four-foot  kin  the 
cold  north  lands,  it  was  necessary  to  clothe  these 
little  brethren  of  ours  in  a  coat  that  should 
be  absolutely  warm,  light,  durable,  of  protective 
colour,  thick  in  cold  weather,  thin  in  warm.  Under 
these  conditions  she  produced  fur,  with  its  densely 
woolly  undercoat  and  its  long,  soft,  shining  outer 
coat,  one  for  warmth,  the  other  for  wet  and 
wear.  Some  northern  animals  can  store  up  food 


Famous  F«f-beaf«s 

in  holes  or  in  the  fat  of  their  bodies,  so  need  not  be 
out  when  the  intensest  cold  is  on  the  land.  Some 
have  to  face  the  weather  all  winter,  and  in  these  we 
find  the  fur  of  its  best  quality.  Of  this  class  are  the 
Marten  and  the  Northern  Fox.  They  are  the 
finest,  warmest,  lightest,  softest  of  all  furs.  But 
colour  is  a  cardinal  point  when  beauty  is  consid- 
ered and  where  fashion  is  Queen.  So  the'choicest 
colours  are  the  soft  olive  brown  with  silver  hairs, 
found  in  the  Russian  Sable,  and  the  glossy  black ' 
with  silver  hairs,  found  in  the  true  Silver  Fox  of  j 
the  North. 

THE  MOST  WONDERFUL  FUR  IN  THE  WORLD 

What  is  the  Silver  Fox?  Simply  a  black  freak, 
a  brunette  born  into  a  red-headed  family.  But 
this  does  not  cast  any  reflection  on  the  mother  or  on 
father's  lineage.  On  the  contrary,  it  means  that 
they  had  in  them  an  element  of  exceptional  vigour, 
which  resulted  in  a  peculiar  intensifying  of  all 
pigments,  transmuting  red  into  black  and  carrying 
with  it  an  unusual  vigour  of  growth  and  fineness  of 
texture,  producing,  in  short,  the  world-famed  Silver 
Fox,  the  lightest,  softest,  thickest,  warmest,  and 
most  lustrous  of  furs,  the  fur  worth  many  times  its 
weight  in  gold,  and  with  this  single  fault,  that  it 
does  not  stand  long  wear. 

32. 


v.    Red  Fox 


Captive;  photo  by  E.  T.  Seton 


vi.    Foxes  quarrelling 


Captive;  photo  by  E.  T.  Setot 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

Cold  and  exposure  are  wonderful  stimulants  of 
the  skin,  and  so  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  real 
Silver  Fox  should  appear  only  in  very  cold  cli- 
mates. Owing  to  its  elevation  the  Yellowstone 
Park  has  the  winter  climate  of  northern  Canada, 
and,  as  might  have  been  predicted,  the  Silver  Fox 
occurs  among  the  many  red-headed  or  bleached 
blonde  Foxes  that  abound  in  the  half  open 
country. 

You  may  travel  all  round  the  stage  route  and 
neither  see  nor  hear  a  Fox,  but  travel  quietly  on 
foot,  or  better,  camp  out,  and  you  will  soon  dis- 
cover the  crafty  one  in  yellow,  or,  rather,  he  will 
discover  you.  How?  Usually  after  you  have 
camped  for  the  night  and  are  sitting  quietly  by  the 
fire  before  the  hour  of  sleep,  a  curious  squall  is 
heard  from  the  dark  hillside  or  bushes,  a  squall 
followed  by  a  bark  like  that  of  a  toy  terrier.  Some- 
times it  keeps  on  at  intervals  for  five  minutes,  and 
sometimes  it  is  answered  by  a  similar  noise.  This  is 
the  bark  of  a  Fox.  It  differs  from  the  Coyote  call 
in  being  very  short,  very  squally,  much  higher 
pitched,  and  without  any  barks  in  it  that  would 
do  credit  to  a  fair-sized  dog.  It  is  no  use  to 
go  after  him.  You  won't  see  him.  You  should 
rather  sit  and  enjoy  the  truly  wildwood  ring  of  his 
music. 

33 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

In  the  morning  if  you  look  hard  in  the  dust  and 
mud,  you  may  find  his  tracks,  and  once  in  a  while 
you  will  see  his  yellow-brown  form  drifting  on  the 
prairie  as  though  wind-blown  under  sail  of  that 
enormous  tail.  For  this  is  the  big-tailed  variety  of 
Red  Fox. 

But  if  you  wish  to  see  the  Fox  in  all  his  glory  you 
must  be  here  in  winter,  when  the  deep  snow  cutting 
off  all  other  foods  brings  all  the  Fox  population 
about  the  hotels  whose  winter  keepers  daily  throw 
out  scraps  for  which  the  Foxes,  the  Magpies,  and  a 
dozen  other  creatures  wait  and  fight. 
i  From  a  friend,  connected  with  one  of  the  Park 
hotels  during  the  early  'go's,  I  learned  that  among 
the  big-tailed  pensioners  of  the  inn,  there  appeared 
one  winter  a  wonderful  Silver  Fox;  and  I  heard 
many  rumours  about  that  Fox.  I  was  told  that  he 
disappeared,  and  did  not  die  of  sickness,  old  age,  or 
wild-beast  violence;  and  what  I  heard  I  may  tell  in 
a  different  form,  only,  be  it  remembered,  the  names 
of  the  persons  and  places  are  disguised,  as  well  as 
the  date;  and  my  informant  may  have  brought  in 
details  that  belonged  elsewhere.  So  that  you  are 
free  to  question  much  of  the  account,  but  the  back- 
bone of  it  is  not  open  to  doubt,  and  some  of  the 
guides  in  the  Park  can  give  you  details  that  I  do  not 
care  to  put  on  paper. 

34 


Famous  Fof-bearcts 

THE  POACHER  AND  THE  SILVER  FOX 

How  is  it  that  all  mankind  has  a  sneaking  sym- 
pathy with  a  poacher?  A  burglar  or  a  pickpocket 
has  our  unmitigated  contempt;  he  clearly  is  a 
criminal;  but  you  will  notice  that  the  poacher  in  the 
story  is  generally  a  reckless  dare-devil  with  a  large 
and  compensatory  amount  of  good-fellow  in  his 
make-up  —  yes,  I  almost  said,  of  good  citizenship. 
I  suppose,  because  in  addition  to  the  breezy, 
romantic  character  of  his  calling,  seasoned  with 
physical  danger  as  well  as  moraj,  risk,  there  is  away 
down  in  human  nature  a  strong  feeling  that,  in 
spite  of  man-made  laws,  the  ancient  ruling  holds 
that  "wild  game  belongs  to  no  man  till  some  one 
makes  it  his  property  by  capture."  It  may  be 
wrong,  it  may  be  right,  but  I  have  heard  this 
doctrine  voiced  by  red  men  and  white,  as  primitive 
law,  once  or  twice ;  and  have  seen  it  lived  up  to  a 
thousand  times. 

Well,  Josh  Cree  was  a  poacher.  This  does  not 
mean  that  every  night  in  every  month  he  went 
forth  with  nefarious  tricks  and  tools,  to  steal  the 
flesh  and  fur  that  legally  were  not  his.  Far  from 
it.  Josh  never  poached  but  once.  But  that's 
enough;  he  had  crossed  the  line,  and  this  is  how  it 
came  about: 

As  you  roll  up  the  Yellowstone  from  Livingston 

35 


Famous  Fuf-bearcf s 

to  Gardiner  you  may  note  a  little  ranch-house  on 
the  west  of  the  track  with  its  log  stables,  its  corral, 
its  irrigation  ditch,  and  its  alfalfa  patch  of  morbid 
green.  It  is  a  small  affair,  for  it  was  founded  by  the 
handiwork  of  one  honest  man,  who  with  his  wife 
and  small  boy  left  Pennsylvania,  braved  every 
danger  of  the  plains,  and  secured  this  claim  in  the 
late  J8o's.  Old  man  Cree  —  he  was  only  forty,  but 
every  married  man  is  "Old  Man"  in  the  West  — 
was  ready  to  work  at  any  honest  calling  from  log- 
ging or  sluicing  to  grading  and  muling.  He  was 
strong  and  steady,  his  wife  was  steady  and  strong. 
They  saved  their  money,  and  little  by  little  they 
got  the  small  ranch-house  built  and  equipped;  little 
by  little  they  added  to  their  stock  on  the  range 
with  the  cattle  of  a  neighbour,  until  there  came  the 
happy  day  when  they  went  to  live  on  their  own 
ranch  —  father,  mother,  and  fourteen-year-old 
Josh,  with  every  prospect  of  making  it  pay.  The 
spreading  of  that  white  tablecloth  for  tie  first 
time  was  a  real  religious  ceremony,  and  the  hard 
workers  gave  thanks  to  the  All-father  for  His  bless- 
ing on  their  every  effort. 

One  year  afterward  a  new  event  brought  joy: 
there  entered  happily  into  their  happy  house  a 
little  girl,  and  all  the  prairie  smiled  about  them. 
Surely  their  boat  was  well  beyond  the  breakers. 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

But  right  in  the  sunshine  of  their  joy  the  trouble 
cloud  arose  to  block  the  sky.  Old  man  Cree  was 
missing  one  day.  His  son  rode  long  and  far  on  the 
range  for  two  hard  days  before  he  sighted  a  graz- 
ing pony,  and  down  a  rocky  hollow  near,  found 
his  father,  battered  and  weak,  near  death,  with 
a  broken  leg  and  a  gash  in  his  head. 

He  could  only  gasp  "Water"  as  Josh  hurried  up, 
and  the  boy  rushed  off  to  nil  his  hat  at  the  nearest 
stream. 

They  had  no  talk,  for  the  father  swooned  after 
drinking,  and  Josh  had  to  face  the  situation; but  he 
was  Western  trained.  He  stripped  himself  of  all 
spare  clothing,  and  his  father's  horse  of  its  saddle 
blanket;  then,  straightening  out  the  sick  man,  he 
wrapped  him  in  the  clothes  and  blanket,  and  rode 
like  mad  for  the  nearest  ranch-house.  The  neigh- 
bour, a  young  man,  came  at  once,  with  a  pot  to 
make  tea,  an  axe,  and  a  rope.  They  found  the  older 
Cree  conscious  but  despairing.  A  fire  was  made, 
and  hot  tea  revived  him.  Then  Josh  cut  two  long 
poles  from  the  nearest  timber  and  made  a  stretcher, 
or  travois,  Indian  fashion,  the  upper  ends  fast  to 
the  saddle  of  a  horse,  while  the  other  ends  trailed 
on  the  ground.  Thus  by  a  long,  slow  journey  the 
wounded  man  got  back.  All  he  had  prayed  for 
was  to  get  home.  Every  invalid  is  sure  that  if 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

only  he  can  get  home  all  will  soon  be  well.  Mother 
was  not  yet  strong,  the  baby  needed  much  care, 
but  Josh  was  a  good  boy,  and  the  loving  best  of  all 
was  done  for  the  sick  one.  His  leg,  set  by  the  army 
surgeon  of  Fort  Yellowstone,  was  knit  again  after  a 
month,  but  had  no  power.  He  had  no  force;  the 
shock  of  those  two  dire  days  was  on  him.  The 
second  month  went  by,  and  still  he  lay  in  bed. 
Poor  Josh  was  the  man  of  the  place  now,  and  be- 
tween duties,  indoors  and  out,  he  was  worn  body 
and  soul. 

Then  it  was  clear  they  must  have  help.  So 

Jack  S was  engaged  at  the  regular  wages  of 

$40  a  month  for  outside  work,  and  a  year  of  struggle 
went  by,  only  to  see  John  Cree  in  his  grave,  his 
cattle  nearly  all  gone,  his  widow  and  boy  living  in  a 
house  on  which  was  still  $500  of  the  original  mort- 
gage. Josh  was  a  brave  boy  and  growing  strong,' 
but  unboyishly  grave  with  the  weight  of  care.  He 
sold  off  the  few  cattle  that  were  left,  and  set  about 
keeping  the  roof  over  his  mother  and  baby  sister 
by  working  a  truck  farm  for  the  market  supplied 
by  the  summer  hotels  of  the  Park,  and  managed  to 
come  out  even.  He  would  in  time  have  done  well, 
but  he  could  not  get  far  enough  ahead  to  meet  that 
10  per  cent  mortgage  already  overdue. 

The  banker  was  not  a  hard  man,  but  he  was  in 

38 


Famous  Ftif-bcarcfs 

the  business  for  the  business.  He  extended  the 
time,  and  waited  for  interest  again  and  again,  but 
it  only  madt  the  principal  larger,  and  it  seemed  that 
the  last  ditch  was  reached,  that  it  would  be  best  to 
let  the  money-man  foreclose,  though  that  must 
mean  a  wipe-out  and  would  leave  the  fatherless 
family  homeless. 

Whiter  was  coming  on,  work  was  scarce,  and  Josh 
went  to  Gardiner  to  see  what  he  could  get  in  the 
way  of  house  or  wage.  He  learned  of  a  chance  to 
'substitute'  for  the  Park  mail-carrier,  who  had 
sprained  his  foot.  It  was  an  easy  drive  to  Fort 
Yellowstone,  and  there  he  readily  agreed, [when  they 
asked  him,  to  take  the  letters  and  packages  and  go 
on  farther  to  the  Canyon  Hotel.  Thus  it  was  that 
on  the  2Oth  day  of  November  189—,  Josh 
Cree,  sixteen  years  old,  tall  and  ruddy,  rode 
through  the  snow  to  the  kitchen  door  of  the  Can- 
yon Hotel  and  was  welcomed  as  though  he  were 
old  Santa  Claus  himself. 

Two  Magpies  on  a  tree  were  among  the  onlookers. 
The  Park  Bears  were  denned  up,  but  there  were 
other  fur-bearers  about.  High  on  the  wood-pile  sat 
a  Yellow  Red  Fox  in  a  magnificent  coat.  Another 
was  in  front  of  the  house,  and  the  keeper  said 
that  as  many  as  a  dozen  came  some  days.  And 
sometimes,  he  said,  there  also  came  a  wonderful 

39 


Famous  F«f-bearers 


Silver  Fox,  a  size  bigger  than  the  rest,  black  as 
coal,  with  eyes  like  yellow  diamonds,  and  a  silver 
frosting  like  little  stars  on  his  midnight  fur. 

"My!  but  he's  a  beauty.  That  skin  would 
buy  the  best  team  of  mules  on  the  Yellowstone." 
That  was  interesting  and  furnished  talk  for  a 
while.  In  the  morning  when  they  were  rising 
for  their  candlelight  breakfast,  the  hotel  man 
glancing  from  the  window  exclaimed,  "Here  he 
is  now!"  and  Josh  peered  forth  to  see  in  the  light 
of  sunrise  something  he  had  often  heard  of,  but 
never  before  seen,  a  coal-black  Fox,  a  giant  among 
his  kind.  How  slick  and  elegant  his  glossy  fur, 
how  slim  his  legs,  and  what  a  monstrous  bushy 
tail;  and  the  other  Foxes  moved  aside  as  the 
patrician  rushed  in  impatient  haste  to  seize  the 
food  thrown  out  by  the  cook. 

"Ain't  he  a  beauty?  "  said  the  hotel  man.  "  I'll 
bet  that  pelt  would  fetch  five  hundred." 

Oh,  why  did  he  say  "five  hundred,"  the  exact 
sum,  for  then  it  was  that  the  tempter  entered  into 
Josh  Cree's  heart.  Five  hundred  dollars!  just 
the  amount  of  the  mortgage.  "Who  owns  wild 
beasts?  The  man  that  kills  them,"  said  the 
tempter,  and  the  thought  was  a  live  one  in  his 
breast  as  Josh  rode  back  to  Fort  Yellowstone. 

At  Gardiner  he  received  his  pay,  $6,  for  three 
40 


Famous  Fur-bear  en 

days'  work  and,  turning  it  into  groceries,  set  out 
for  the  poor  home  that  soon  would  be  lost  to  him, 
and  as  he  rode  he  did  some  hard  and  gloomy 
thinking.  On  his  wrist  there  hung  a  wonderful 
Indian  quirt  of  plaited  rawhide  and  horsehair  with 
beads  on  the  shaft,  and  a  band  of  Elk  teeth  on 
the  butt.  It  was  a  pet  of  his,  and  "good  medicine," 
for  a  flat  piece  of  elkhorn  let  in  the  middle  was 
perforated  with  a  hole,  through  which  the  distant 
landscape  was  seen  much  clearer  —  a  well-known 
law,  an  ancient  trick,  but  it  made  the  quirt 
prized  as  a  thing  of  rare  virtue,  and  Josh  had  re- 
fused good  offers  for  it.  Then  a  figure  afoot  was 
seen,  and  coming  nearer,  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
friend,  Jack  Day,  out  a-gunning  with  a  .22  rifle. 
But  game  was  scarce  and  Jack  was  returning 
to  Gardiner  empty-handed  and  disgusted.  They 
stopped  for  a  moment's  greeting  when  Day  said: 
"Huntin's  played  out  now.  How'll  you  swap  that 
quirt  for  my  rifle?  "  A  month  before  Josh  would 
have  scorned  the  offer.  A  ten-dollar  quirt  for 
a  five-dollar  rifle,  but  now  he  said  briefly:  "For 
rifle  with  cover,  tools  and  ammunition  complete, 
I'll  go  ye."  So  the  deal  was  made  and  in  an  hour 
Josh  was  home.  He  stabled  Grizzle,  the  last  of 
their  saddle  stock,  and  entered. 
Love  and  sorrow  dwelt  hi  the  widow's  home,  but 


Famous  Fuf-beafefs 


the  return  of  Josh  brought  its  measure  of  joy. 
Mother  prepared  the  regular  meal  of  tea,  potatoes, 
and  salt  pork;  there  was  a  time  when  they  had 
soared  as  high  as  canned  goods,  but  those  pros- 
perous days  were  gone.  Josh  was  dandling  baby 
sister  on  his  lap  as  he  told  of  his  trip,  and  he  learned 
of  two  things  of  interest:  First,  the  bank  must 
have  its  money  by  February;  second,  the  stable  at 
Gardiner  wanted  a  driver  for  the  Cook  City  stage. 
Then  the  little  events  moved  quickly.  His  half- 
formed  plan  of  getting  back  to  the  Canyon  was 
now  frustrated  by  the  new  opening,  and,  besides 
this,  hope  had  been  dampened  by  the  casual  word 
of  one  who  reported  that  "that  Silver  Fox  had 
not  been  seen  since  at  the  Canyon." 

Then  began  long  days  of  dreary  driving  through 
the  snow,  with  a  noon  halt  at  Yancey's  and  then 
three  days  later  the  return,  in  the  cold,  the  biting 
cold.  It  was  freezing  work,  but  coldest  of  all  was 
the  chill  thought  at  his  heart  that  February  ist 
would  see  him  homeless. 

Small  bands  of  Mountain  Sheep  he  saw  at  times 
on  the  slope  of  Evarts,  and  a  few  Blacktail,  and 
later,  when  the  winter  deepened,  huge  bull  Elk 
were  seen  along  the  trail.  Sometimes  they  moved 
not  more  than  a  few  paces  to  let  him  pass.  These 
were  everyday  things  to  him,  but  in  the  second 
42 


i 


Famous  Fur-tear ers 

week  of  his  winter  work  he  got  a  sudden  thrill. 
He  was  coming  down  the  long  hill  back  of  Yancey's 
when  what  should  he  see  there,  sitting  on  its  tail, 
shiny  black  with  yellow  eyes  like  a  huge  black 
cat  unusually  long  and  sharp  in  the  nose,  but  a 
wonderful  Silver  Fox!  Possibly  the  same  as  the 
one  he  saw  at  the  Canyon,  for  that  one  he  knew 
had  disappeared  and  there  were  not  likely  to  be 
two  in  the  Park.  Yes,  it  might  be  the  same,  and 
Josh's  bosom  surged  with  mingled  feelings.  Why 
did  he  not  carry  that  little  gun?  Why  did  he  not 
realize?  Were  the  thoughts  that  came — $500! 
A  noble  chance!  broad  daylight  only  twenty-five 
yards!  and  gone! 

The  Fox  was  still  there  when  Josh  drove  on. 
On  the  next  trip  he  brought  the  little  rifle.  He  had 
sawed  off  the  stock  so  he  could  hide  it  easily  in 
his  overcoat  if  need  be.  No  man  knew  that  he 
carried  arms,  but  the  Foxes  seemed  to  know. 
The  Red  ones  kept  afar  and  the  Black  one  came 
no  more.  Day  after  day  he  drove  and  hoped  but 
the  Black  Fox  has  cunning  measured  to  his  value. 
He  came  not,  or  if  he  came,  was  wisely  hidden, 
and  so  the  month  went  by,  till  late  in  the  cold 
Moon  of  Snow  he  heard  old  Yancey,say  "There's  a 
Silver  Fox  bin  a-hanging  around  the  stable  this 
last  week.  Leastwise  Dave  says  he  seen  him." 

43 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

There  were  soldiers  sitting  around  that  stove, 
game  guardians  of  the  Park,  and  still  more  danger- 
ous, a  scout,  the  soldiers'  guide,  a  mountaineer. 
Josh  turned  not  an  inch,  he  made  no  sound  in 
response,  but  his  heart  gave  a  jump.  Half  an 
hour  later  he  went  out  to  bed  his  horses  for  the 
night,  and  peering  around  the  stable  he  saw  a 
couple  of  shadowy  forms  that  silently  shifted  until 
swallowed  by  the  gloom. 

Then  the  soldiers  came  to  bed  their  horses,  and 
Josh  went  back  to  the  stove.  His  big  driving 
coat  hung  with  the  little  sawed-off  rifle  hi  the  long 
pocket.  He  waited  till  the  soldiers  one  by  one 
went  up  the  ladder  to  the  general  bunk-room. 
He  rose  again,  got  the  lantern,  lighted  it,  carried 
it  out  behind  the  lonely  stable.  The  horses  were 
grinding  their  hay,  the  stars  were  faintly  lighting 
the  snow.  There  was  no  one  about  as  he  hung  the 
lantern  under  the  eaves  outside  so  that  it  could 
be  seen  from  the  open  valley,  but  not  from  the! 
house. 

A  faint  Yap-yah,  of  a  Fox  was  heard  on  the 
piney  hillside,  as  he  lay  down  on  the  hay  hi  the 
loft,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  life  on  the  snow. 
He  had  come  to  wait  all  night  if  need  be,  and 
waited.  The  lantern  might  allure,  it  might 
scare,  but  it  was  needed  in  this  gloom,  and  it 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

tinged  the  snow  with  faint  yellow  light  below  him. 
An  hour  went  by,  then  a  big-tailed  form  came 
near  and  made  a  little  bark  at  the  lantern.  It 
looked  very  dark,  but  it  had  a  paler  patch  on  the 
throat.  This  waiting  was  freezing  work;  Josh's 
teeth  were  chattering  in  spite  of  his  overcoat. 
Another  gray  form  came,  then  a  much  larger  black 
one  shaped  itself  on  the  white.  It  dashed  at  the 
first,  which  fled,  and  the  second  one  followed  but  a 
little,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  snow,  gazing  at 
that  bright  light.  When  you  are  sure,  you  are  so 
sure  —  Josh  knew  him  now,  he  was  facing  the 
Silver  Fox.  But  the  light  was  dim.  Josh's  hand 
trembled  as  he  bared  it  to  lay  the  back  on  his  lips 
and  suck  so  as  to  make  a  mousey  squeak.  The 
effect  on  the  Fox  was  instant.  He  glided  forward 
intent  as  a  hunting  cat.  Again  he  stood  in,  oh !  such 
a  wonderful  pose,  still  as  a  statue,  frozen  like 
a  hiding  partridge,  unbudging  as  a  lone  kid 
Antelope  in  May.  And  Josh  raised  —  yes,  he 
had  come  for  that  —  he  raised  that  fatal  gun. 
The  lantern  blazed  hi  the  Fox's  face  at  twenty 
yards;  the  light  was  flung  back  doubled  by  its 
shining  eyes;  it  looked  perfectly  clear.  Josh  lined 
the  gun,  but,  strange  to  tell,  the  sights  so  plain 
were  lost  at  once,  and  the  gun  was  shaking  like  a 
sorghum  stalk  while  the  Gopher  gnaws  its  root. 

45 


Famous  Fuf-bcatcts 

He  laid  the  weapon  down  with  a  groan,  cursed 
his  own  poor  trembling  hand,  and  in  an  instant 
the  wonder  Fox  was  gone. 

Poor  Josh!  He  wasn't  bad-tongued,  but  now 
he  used  all  the  evil  words  he  had  ever  heard,  and  he 
was  Western  bred.  Then  he  reacted  on  himself. 
"The  Fox  might  come  back!"  Suddenly  he 
remembered  something.  He  got  out  a  common 
sulphur  match.  He  wet  it  on  his  lips  and  rubbed 
it  on  the  muzzle  sight:  Then  on  each  side  of  the 
notch  on  the  breech  sight.  He  lined  it  for  a  tree. 
Yes!  surely!  What  had  been  a  blur  of  blackness 
had  now  a  visible  form. 

A  faint  bark  on  a  far  hillside  might  mean  a 
coming  or  a  going  Fox.  Josh  waited  five  minutes, 
then  again  he  squeaked  on  his  bare  hand.  The 
effect  was  a  surprise  when  from  the  shelter  of  the 
stable  wall  ten  feet  below  there  leaped  the  great 
dark  Fox.  At  fifteen  feet  it  paused.  Those  yel- 
low orbs  were  fiery  in  the  light  and  the  rifle  sights 
with  the  specks  of  fire  were  lined.  There  was 
a  sharp  report  and  the  black-robed  fur  was  still 
and  limp  in  the  snow. 

Who  can  tell  the  crack  of  a  small  rifle  among  the 
louder  cracks  of  green  logs  splitting  with  the  fierce 
frost  of  a  Yellowstone  winter's  night?  Why 
should  travel-worn,  storm-worn  travellers  wake 

46 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

at  each  slight,  usual  sound?    Who  knows?    Who 
cares? 

And  afar  in  Livingston  what  did  the  fur  dealer 
care?  It  was  a  great  prize  —  or  the  banker? 
he  got  his  five  hundred,  and  mother  found  it  easy 
to  accept  the  Indians'  creed:  "Who  owns  wild 
beasts?  The  man  who  kills  them." 

"I  did  not  know  how  it  would  come,"  she  said; 
"'I  only  knew  it  would  come,  for  I  prayed  and 
believed." 

We  know  that  it  came  when  it  meant  the  most. 
The  house  was  saved.  It  was  the  turn  in  their 
fortune's  tide,  and  the  crucial  moment  of  the 
change  was  when  those  three  bright  sulphur  spots 
were  lined  with  the  living  lamps  in  the  head  of  the 
Silver  Fox.  Yes!  Josh  was  a  poacher.  Just  once. 

THE  VILLAIN  IN  VELVET  —  THE  MARTEN 

This  beautiful  animal,  the  Sable  of  America, 
with  its  rich  brown  fur  and  its  golden  throat,  comes 
naturally  after  the  Silver  Fox,  for  such  is  the  rela- 
tive value  of  their  respective  coats. 

The  Fox  is  a  small  wild  dog;  the  Marten  is  a  large 
tree  Weasel.  It  is  a  creature  of  amazing  agility, 
so  much  so  that  it  commonly  runs  down  the  Red- 
squirrel  among  the  tree  tops. 

47 


Famous  Far-bearers 

Its  food  consists  mainly  of  mice  and  Squirrels, 
but  it  kills  Rabbits  and  Grouse  when  it  can  find 
them,  and  sometimes  even  feasts  on  game  of  a  far 
more  noble  size. 

Tom  Newcomb,  my  old  guide,  has  given  me  an 
interesting  note  on  the  Marten,  made  while  he  was 
acting  as  hunting  guide  in  the  Shoshoni  Mountains. 

In  October,  1911,  he  was  out  with  Baron  D' 
Epsen  and  his  party,  hunting  on  Miller  Creek  east 
of  Yellowstone  Park.  They  shot  at  a  Deer. 
It  ran  off  as  though  unharmed,  but  turned  to  run 
down  hill,  and  soon  the  snow  showed  that  it  was 
spurting  blood  on  both  sides.  They  followed  for 
three  or  four  hundred  yards,  and  then  the  Deer 
track  was  joined  by  tie  tracks  of  five  Marten. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  found  the  Deer  down  and 
the  five  Marten,  a  family  probably,  darting  about 
in  the  near  trees,  making  then-  peculiar  soft  purr 
as  though  in  anticipation  of  the  feast,  which 
was  delayed  only  by  the  coming  of  the  hunters. 
These  attempts  to  share  with  the  killers  of  big  game 
are  often  seen. 

THE  INDUSTRIOUS  BEAVER 

In  some  respects  the  Beaver  is  the  most  notable 
animal  in  the  West.  It  was  the  search  for  Beaver 
skins  that  led  adventurers  to  explore  the  Rocky 

* 


Photos  by  E.  T.  Seton 

Vii.     Beaver:    (a)   Pond  and  house;    (b)  Stumps  of  tree  cut  and 
removed  by  Beaver,  near  Yancey's,  1897 


viii.    Mule-deer 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Seton 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

Mountains,  and  to  open  up  the  whole  northwest  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada.  It  is  the  Beaver 
to-day  that  is  the  chief  incentive  to  poachers  in  the 
Park,  but  above  all  the  Beaver  is  the  animal  that 
most  manifests  its  intelligence  by  its  works,  fore- 
stalls man  in  much  of  his  best  construction, 
and  amazes  us  by  the  well-considered  labour  of  its 
hands. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  Beaver's  works  and 
wisdom  were  so  new  and  astounding  that  super- 
human intelligence  was  ascribed  to  this  fur-clad 
engineer.  Then  the  scoffers  came  and  reduced  him 
to  the  low  level  of  his  near  kin,  and  explained  the 
accounts  of  his  works  as  mere  fairy  tales.  Now  we 
have  got  back  to  the  middle  of  the  road.  We  find 
him  a  creature  of  intelligence  far  above  that  of  his 
near  kinsmen,  andendowed  with  some  extraordinary 
instincts  that  guide  him  in  making  dams,  houses, 
etc.,  that  are  unparalleled  hi  the  animal  world. 
Here  are  the  principal  deliberate  constructions  of 
the  Beaver:  First  the  lodge.  The  Beaver  was 
the  original  inventor  of  reinforced  concrete.  He 
has  used  it  for  a  million  years,  in  the  form  of  mud 
mixed  with  sticks  and  stones,  for  building  his  lodge 
and  dam.  The  lodge  is  the  home  of  the  family; 
that  is,  it  shelters  usually  one  old  male,  one  old 
female  and  sundry  offspring.  It  is  commonly 

49 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

fifteen  to  twenty  feet  across  outside,  and  three  to 
five  feet  high.  Within  is  a  chamber  about  two 
feet  high  and  six  feet  across,  well  above  water  and 
provided  with  a  ventilator  through  the  roof,alsotwo 
entering  passages  under  water,  one  winding  for 
ordinary  traffic,  and  one  straight  for  carrying  hi 
wood,  whose  bark  is  a  staple  food.  This  house  is 
kept  perfectly  tidy,  and  when  the  branch  is  stripped 
of  all  eatable  parts,  it  is  taken  out  and  worked  into 
the  dam,  which  is  a  crooked  bank  of  mud  and  sticks 
across  the  running  stream.  It  holds  the  water  so 
as  to  moat  the  Beaver  Castle. 

But  the  canal  is  one  of  this  animal's  most  in- 
teresting undertakings.  It  is  strictly  a  freight 
canal  for  bringing  in  food-logs,  and  is  dug  out 
across  level  ground  toward  the  standing  timber. 

Canals  are  commonly  three  or  four  hundred  feet 
long,  about  three  feet  wide  and  two  feet  deep. 
There  was  a  small  but  good  example  at  Yancey's  in 
1897 ;  it  was  only  seventy  feet  long.  The  longest  I 
ever  saw  was  in  the  Adirondacks,  N.  Y. ;  it  was 
six  hundred  and  fifty-four  feet  in  length  following 
the  curves,  two  or  three  feet  wide  and  about  two 
feet  deep. 

Three  other  Beaver  structures  should  be  noticed. 
One,  the  dock  or  plunge  hole,  which  is  a  deep  place 
by  a  sharply  raised  bank,  both  made  with  care- 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

ful  manual  labour.  Next,  the  sunning  place,  gen- 
erally an  ant-hill  on  which  the  Beaver  lies  to 
enjoy  a  sun-bath,  while  the  ants  pick  the  creepers 
out  of  his  fur.  Third,  the  mud-pie.  This  is  a 
little  patty  of  mud  mixed  with  a  squeeze  of  the 
castor  or  body-scent  glands.  It  answers  the  pur- 
pose of  a  register,  letting  all  who  call  know  that  so 
and  so  has  recently  been  here. 

The  chief  food  of  the  Beaver,  at  least  its  favourite 
food,  is  aspen,  also  called  quaking  asp  or  poplar; 
where  there  are  no  poplars  there  are  no  Beavers. 

THE  DAM 

Usually  the  Beavers  start  a  dam  on  some  stream, 
right  opposite  a  good  grove  of  poplars.  When 
these  are  all  cut  down  and  the  bark  used  for  food, 
the  Beaver  makes  a  second  dam  on  the  same  stream, 
always  with  a  view  to  having  deep  water  for  safety, 
close  by  poplars  for  food.  In  this  way  I  found  the 
Beavers  at  Yancey's  in  1897  had  constructed  thir- 
teen dams  in  succession.  But  when  I  examined 
the  ground  again  in  1912,  the  dams  were  broken, 
the  ponds  all  dry.  Why?  The  answer  is  very 
simple.  The  Beavers  had  used  up  all  the  food.  In- 
stead of  the  little  aspen  groves  there  were  now 
nothing  but  stumps,  and  the  Beavers  had  moved 
elsewhere. 


vsintf    /s 
7a//  as  a  Trowtl 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

Similarly  in  1897  the  largest  Beaver  pond  in  the 
Park  was  at  Obsidian  Cliff.  I  should  say  the  dam 
there  was  over  four  hundred  yards  long.  But  now 
it  is  broken  and  the  pond  is  drained.  And  the 
reason  as  before  —  the  Beavers  used  all  the  food 
and  moved  on.  Of  course  the  dam  is  soon  broken 
when  the  hardworking  ones  are  not  there  in  their 
eternal  vigilance  to  keep  it  tight. 
.  There  are  many  good  Beaver  ponds  near  Yan- 
cey's  now  and  probably  made  by  the  same  colonies 
of  Beavers  as  those  I  studied  there. 

Last  September  I  found  a  fine  lots  of  dams  and 
dammers  on  the  southeast  side  of  Yellowstone  Lake 
where  you  may  go  on  a  camera  hunt  with  certainty 
of  getting  Beaver  pictures.  Yes,  in  broad  day- 
light. 

Let  me  correct  here  some  popular  errors  about 
the  Beaver: 

It  does  not  use  its  tail  as  a  trowel. 

It  does  not  use  big  logs  in  building  a  dam. 

It  does  not  and  cannot  drive  stakes. 

It  cannot  throw  a  tree  in  any  given  way. 

It  finishes  the  lodge  outside  with  sticks,  not  mud. 

THE  OTTER  AND  HIS  SLIDE 

Every  one  of  us  that  ever  was  a  small  boy  and 
rejoiced  in  belly-bumping  down  some  icy  hill,  on  a 


Famous  Fur-bear ef  s 

sled  of  glorious  red,  should  have  a  brotherly  sym- 
pathy for  the  Otter. 

While  in  a  large  sense  this  beautiful  animal  be- 
longs to  the  Weasel  family,  it  has  so  far  progressed 
that  it  is  one  of  the  merriest,  best-natured,  un- 
sanguinary  creatures  that  ever  caught  their  prey 
alive.  This  may  be  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  it 
has  taken  entirely  to  a  fish  diet;  for  without  any 
certain  knowledge  of  the  reason,  we  observe  that 
fisherfolk  are  gentler  than  hunterfolk,  and  the 
Otter  among  his  Weasel  kin  affords  a  good  illus- 
tration of  this. 

We  find  the  animals  going  through  much  the 
same  stages  as  we  do.  First,  the  struggle  for 
food,  then  for  mates,  and  later,  when  they  have 
no  cause  to  worry  about  either,  they  seek  for 
entertainment.  Quite  a  number  of  our  animals 
have  invented  amusements.  Usually  these  are 
mere  games  of  tag,  catch,  or  tussle,  but  some  have 
gone  farther  and  have  a  regular  institution,  with 
a  set  place  to  meet,  and  apparatus  provided. 
This  is  the  highest  form  of  all,  and  one  of  the  best 
illustrations  of  it  is  found  in  the  jovial  Otter. 
Coasting  is  an  established  game  with  this  animal; 
and  probably  every  individual  of  the  species 
frequents  some  Otter  slide.  This  is  any  conven- 
ient steep  hill  or  bank,  sloping  down  into  deep 

S3 


Famous  Fur-bearers 

water,  prepared  by  much  use,  and  worn  into  a 
smooth  shoot  that  becomes  especially  serviceable 
when  snow  or  ice  are  there  to  act  as  lightning 
lubricants.  And  here  the  Otters  will  meet,  old 
and  young,  male  and  female,  without  any  thought 
but  the  joy  of  fun  together,  and  shoot  down  one 
after  the  other,  swiftly,  and  swifter  still,  as  the  hill 
grows  smooth  with  use,  and  plump  into  the  water 
and  out  again;  and  chase  each  other  with  little 
animal  gasps  of  glee,  each  striving  to  make  the 
shoot  more  often  and  more  quickly  than  the 
others.  And  all  of  this  charming  scene,  this  group 
and  their  merry  game,  is  unquestionably  for  the 
simple  social  joy  of  being  together  in  an  exercise 
which  gives  to  them  the  delicious,  exhilarating 
sensation  of  speeding  through  space  without  either 
violence  or  effort.  In  fact,  for  the  very  same  reason 
that  you  and  I  went  coasting  when  we  were  boys. 
Do  not  fail  to  get  one  of  the  guides  to  show  you 
the  Otter  slides  as  you  travel  about  the  lake.  Some 
of  them  are  good  and  some  are  poor.  The  very 
best  are  seen  after  the  snow  has  come,  but  still 
you  can  see  them  with  your  own  eyes,  and  if  you 
are  very  lucky  and  very  patient  you  may  be  re- 
warded by  the  sight  of  these  merry  creatures  in- 
dulging in  a  game  which  closely  parallels  so  many 
of  our  own. 

54 


IV 

Horns  and   Hoofs 
and  Legs  of  Speed 


IV 
Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

BOUNDING   BLACKTAIL 


WHEN  Lewis  and  Clark  reached  the  Big 
Sioux  River  in  Dakota,  on  their  famous 
journey  up  the  Missouri,  one  hundred  and 
ten  years  ago,  they  met,  on  the  very  edge  and 
beginning  of  its  range,  the  Mule  Deer,  and  added 
the  new  species  to  their  collection. 

It  is  the  characteristic  Deer  of  the  rough  country 
from  Mexico  to  British  Columbia,  and  from  Cali- 
fornia to  Manitoba;  and  is  one  of  the  kinds  most 
easily  observed  in  the  Yellowstone  Sanctuary. 

Driving  from  Gardiner,  passing  under  the  Great 
Tower  of  Eagle  Rock  on  which  an  Osprey  has 
nested  year  after  year  as  far  back  as  the  records 
go,  and  wheeling  into  the  open  space  in  front  of 
the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  Hotel,  one  is  almost 
sure  to  come  on  a  family  of  Deer  wandering  across 
the  lawn,  or  posing  among  the  shrubbery,  with  all 
the  artless  grace  of  the  truly  wild  creature.  These 

57 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

are  the  representatives  of  several  hundred  that 
collect  in  fall  on  and  about  this  lawn,  but  are  now 
scattered  for  the  summer  season  over  the  adjoining 
hills,  to  come  again,  no  doubt  in  increased  num- 
bers, when  the  first  deep  snow  shall  warn  them  to 
seek  their  whiter  range. 

Like  the  other  animals,  these  are  natives  of  the 
region  and  truly  wild,  but  so  educated  by  long 
letting  alone  that  it  is  easy  to  approach  within  a 
few  yards. 

The  camera  hunter  should  not  fail  to  use  this 
opportunity,  not  only  because  they  are  wild  and 
beautiful  things,  but  because  he  can  have  the  films 
developed  at  the  hotel  over  night,  and  so  find  out 
how  his  camera  is  behaving  in  this  new  light  and 
surroundings. 

This  is  the  common  Blacktailed  Deer  of  the  hill 
country,  called  Mule  Deer  on  account  of  its  huge 
ears  and  the  shape  of  its  tail.  In  Canada  I  knew 
it  by  the  name  of  "Jumping  Deer,"  from  its  gait, 
and  in  the  Rockies  it  is  familiar  as  the  "Bounding 
Blacktail"— "Bounding"  because  of  the  wonderful 
way  in  which  it  strikes  the  ground  with  its  legs 
held  stiffly,  then  rises  in  the  air  with  little  apparent 
effort,  and  lands  some  ten  or  fifteen  feet  away. 
As  the  hunters  say,  "The  Blacktail  hits  only 
the  high  places  in  the  landscape."  On  the  level 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

it  does  not  run  so  well  as  the  Antelope  or  the 
Whitetailed  Deer,  and  I  often  wondered  why  it  had 
adopted  this  laborious  mode  of  speeding,  which 
seemed  so  inferior  to  the  normal  pace  of  its  kin. 
But  at  length  I  was  eyewitness  of  an  episode  that 
explained  the  puzzle. 

THE  MOTHER  BLACKTAIL's  RACE  FOR  LIFE 

In  the  fall  of  1897  I  was  out  for  a  Wolf  hunt 
with  the  Eaton  boys  in  the  Badlands  near  Medora, 
N.  D.  We  had  a  fine  mixed  pack  of  dogs,  trailers, 
runners,  and  fighters.  The  runners  were  thor- 
oughbred greyhounds,  that  could  catch  any  four- 
foot  on  the  plains  except  perhaps  a  buck  Antelope; 
that  I  saw  them  signally  fail  in.  But  a  Wolf,  or 
even  the  swift  Coyote,  had  no  chance  of  getting 
away  from  them  provided  they  could  keep  him 
in  view.  We  started  one  of  these  singers  of  the 
plains,  and  at  first  he  set  off  trusting  to  his  legs, 
but  the  greyhounds  were  after  him,  and  when  he 
saw  his  long  start  shrinking  so  fearfully  fast  he 
knew  that  his  legs  could  not  save  him,  that  now 
was  the  time  for  wits  to  enter  the  game.  And 
this  entry  he  made  quickly  and  successfully  by 
dropping  out  of  sight  down  a  brushy  canyon,  so  the 
greyhounds  saw  him  no  more. 

Then  they  were  baffled  by  Prairie-dogs  which 

59 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

dodged  down  out  of  reach  and  hawks  which  rose  up 
out  of  reach,  and  still  we  rode,  till,  rounding  a  little 
knoll  near  a  drinking  place,  we  came  suddenly  on 
a  mother  Blacktail  and  her  two  fawns.  All  three 
swung  their  big  ears  and  eyes  into  full  bearing  on 
us,  and  we  reined  our  horses  and  tried  to  check 
our  dogs,  hoping  they  had  not  seen  the  quarry 
that  we  did  not  wish  to  harm.  But  Bran  the  leader 
gave  a  yelp,  then  leaping  high  over  the  sage, 
directed  all  the  rest,  and  in  a  flash  it  was  a  life 
and  death  race. 

Again  and  frantically  the  elder  Eaton  yelled 
"Come  back!"  and  his  brother  tried  to  cut  across 
and  intercept  the  hounds.  But  a  creature  that 
runs  away  is  an  irresistible  bait  to  a  greyhound, 
and  the  chase  across  the  sage-covered  flat  was  on, 
with  every  nerve  and  tendon  strained. 

Away  went  the  Blacktail,  bounding,  bounding  at 
that  famous  beautiful,  birdlike,  soaring  pace, 
mother  and  young  tapping  the  ground  and  sailing 
to  land,  and  tap  and  sail  again.  And  away  went 
the  greyhounds,  low  coursing,  outstretched,  bound- 
ing like  bolts  from  a  crossbow,  curving  but  little 
and  dropping  only  to  be  shot  again.  They  were 
straining  hard;  the  Blacktail  seemed  to  be  going 
more  easily,  far  more  beautifully.  But  alas!  they 
were  losing  time.  The  greyhounds  were  closing; 
60 


X.    Blacktail  Family 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Scion 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Seton 


XI.     Blacktail  mother  with  her  twins 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

in  vain  we  yelled  at  them.  We  spurred  our  horses, 
hoping  to  cut  them  off,  hoping  to  stop  the  ugly, 
lawless  tragedy.  But  the  greyhounds  were  frantic 
now.  The  distance  between  Bran  and  the  hind- 
most fawn  was  not  forty  feet.  Then  Eaton  drew 
his  revolver  and  fired  shots  over  the  greyhounds' 
heads,  hoping  to  scare  them  into  submission,  but 
they  seemed  to  draw  fresh  stimulus  from  each 
report,  and  yelped  and  bounded  faster.  A  little 
more  and  the  end  would  be.  Then  we  saw  a 
touching  sight.  The  hindmost  fawn  let  out  a 
feeble  bleat  of  distress,  and  the  mother,  heeding, 
dropped  back  between.  It  looked  like  choosing 
death,  for  now  she  had  not  twenty  feet  of  lead.  I 
wanted  Eaton  to  use  his  gun  on  the  foremost 
hound,  when  something  unexpected  happened. 
The  flat  was  crossed,  the  Blacktail  reached  a  great 
high  butte,  and  tapping  with  their  toes  they  soared 
some  fifteen  feet  and  tapped  again;  and  tapped 
and  tapped  and  soared,  and  so  they  went  like 
hawks  that  are  bounding  in  the  air,  and  the  grey- 
hounds, peerless  on  the  plain,  were  helpless  on 
the  butte.  Yes!  rush  as  they  might  and  did,  and 
bounded  and  clomb,  but  theirs  was  not  the  way 
of  the  hills.  In  twenty  heartbeats  they  were  left 
behind.  The  Blacktail  mother  with  her  twins 
kept  on  and  soared  and  lightly  soared  till  lost  to 

61 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

view,  and  all  were  safely  hidden  in  their  native 
hills. 

THE  BLACKTAIL'S  SAFETY  is  IN  THE  HILLS 

That  day  I  learned  the  reason  for  the  bounding 
flight,  so  beautiful,  but  not  the  best  or  swiftest 
on  the  plain,  yet  the  one  that  gives  them  dominion 
and  safety  on  the  hills,  that  makes  of  them  a  hill 
folk  that  the  dangers  of  the  plain  can  never  reach. 
So  now,O  traveller  in  the  Park,  if  you  approach 
too  near  the  Blacktail  feeding  near  the  great  hotel, 
and  so  alarm  them — for  they  are  truly  wild — they 
make  not  for  the  open  run  as  do  the  Antelope  and 
the  Hares,  not  for  the  thickest  bottomland  as  do  the 
Whitetail  and  the  Lynxes,  but  for  the  steeper 
hillsides.  They  know  right  well  where  their 
safety  lies,  and  on  that  near  and  bushy  bank, 
laying  aside  all  alarm,  they  group  and  pose  in 
artless  grace  that  tempts  one  to  a  lavish  use  of 
films  and  gives  the  chance  for  that  crowning  triumph 
of  the  art,  a  wild  animal  group,  none  of  which  is 
looking  at  the  camera. 

One  more  characteristic  incident:  In  1897  I 
was  riding,  with  my  wife,  from  Yancey's  over 
to  Baronett's  Bridge,  when  we  came  on  a  young 
buck  Blacktail.  Now,  said  I,  "I  am  going  to 
show  you  the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  thing 
62 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

to  be  seen  in  the  way  of  wild  life  speeding.  You 
shall  now  see  the  famous  bounding  of  the  Black- 
tail."  Then  I  spurred  out  after  the  young  buck, 
knowing  that  all  he  needed  was  a  little  alarm  to 
make  him  perform.  Did  he  take  alarm  and  run? 
Not  at  all.  He  was  in  the  Yellowstone  Sanctuary. 
He  knew  nothing  of  guns  or  dogs;  he  had  lived  all 
his  life  in  safety.  He  would  trot  a  few  steps  out  of 
my  way,  then  turn  and  gaze  at  me,  but  run,  bound, 
and  make  for  the  high  land,  not  a  bit  of  it.  And  to 
this  day  my  fair  companion  has  not  seen  the  Black- 
tail  bounding  up  the  hills. 

THE  ELK  OR  WAPITI  THE  NOBLEST  OF  ALL  DEER 

The  Rocky  Mountain  Elk,  or  Wapiti,  is  the 
finest  of  all  true  Deer.  The  cows  weigh  400  to 
500  pounds,  the  bulls  600  or  800,  but  occasionally 
1000.  At  several  of  the  hotels  a  small  herd  is 
kept  in  a  corral  for  the  pleasure  and  photography 
of  visitors. 

The  latest  official  census  puts  the  summer  popu- 
lation of  Elk  in  the  Yellowstone  Park  at  35,000, 
but  the  species  is  migratory,  at  least  to  the  extent 
of  seeking  a  winter  feeding  ground  with  as  little 
snow  as  possible,  so  that  most  of  them  move  out  as 
snow  time  sets  in.  Small  herds  linger  in  the  rich 
and  sheltered  valleys  along  the  Yellowstone,  Snake 

63 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

and  nearby  rivers,  but  the  total  of  those  wintering 
in  the  Park  is  probably  less  than  5,000. 

STALKING  A  BAND  OF  ELK 

In  the  summer  months  the  best  places  in  which  to 
look  for  these  Deer  are  all  the  higher  forests,  especi- 
ally along  the  timber-line.  I  had  an  interesting 
stalk  after  a  large  band  of  them  among  the  woods 
of  Tower  Falls  in  the  June  of  1 89  7 .  I  had  found  the 
trail  of  a  considerable  herd  and  followed  it  up  the 
mountain  till  the  "sign"  was  fresh.  Then  I  tied 
up  my  horse  and  went  forward  on  foot.  For  these 
animals  are  sufficiently  acquainted  with  man  as  a 
mischief-maker  to  be  vigilant  in  avoiding  him,  even 
in  the  Park.  I  was  cautiously  crawling  from  tree  to 
tree,  when  out  across  an  open  space  I  descried  a  cow 
Elk  and  her  calf  lying  down.  A  little  more  crawling 
and  I  sighted  a  herd  all  lying  down  and  chewing  the 
cud.  About  twenty  yards  away  was  a  stump  whose 
shelter  offered  chances  to  use  the  camera,  but  my 
present  position  promised  nothing,  so  I  set  out  care- 
fully to  cross  the  intervening  space  in  plain  view 
of  scores  of  Elk;  and  all  would  have  been  well  but 
for  a  pair  of  mischievous  little  Chipmunks.  They 
started  a  most  noisy  demonstration  against  my 
approach,  running  back  and  forth  across  my  path, 
twittering  and  flashing  their  tails  about.  In  vain 

64 


xiii.    Elk  in  Wyoming:  (a) 


Photo  by  G.  G.  Stton 

(b)  " Nightfall" 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

I  prayed  for  a  paralytic  stroke  to  fall  on  my  small 
tormentors.  Their  aggravating  plan,  if  plan  it  was, 
they  succeeded  in  fully  carrying  out.  The  Elk 
turned  all  their  megaphone  ears,  their  funnel  noses 
and  their  blazing  telescopic  eyes  my  way.  I  lay 
like  a  log  and  waited ;  so  did  they.  Then  the  moun- 
tain breeze  veered  suddenly  and  bore  the  taint  of 
man  to  those  watchful  mothers.  They  sprang  to 
their  feet,  some  fifty  head  at  least,  half  of  them  with 
calves  by  their  sides,  and  away  they  dashed  with  a 
roaring  sound,  and  a  rattling  and  crashing  of 
branches  that  is  wonderfully  impressive  to  hear, 
and  nothing  at  all  to  tell  about. 

I  had  made  one  or  two  rough  sketches  as  I  lay 
on  the  ground,  but  the  photographs  were  failures. 

This  band  contained  only  cows  engaged  in  grow- 
ing their  calves.  According  to  Elk  etiquette,  the 
bulls  are  off  by  themselves  at  a  much  higher  ele- 
vation, engaged  in  the  equally  engrossing  occu- 
pation of  growing  their  antlers.  Most  persons  are 
surprised  greatly  when  first  they  learn  that  the 
huge  antlers  of  the  Elk,  as  with  most  deer,  are 
grown  and  shed  each  year.  It  takes  only  five 
months  to  grow  them.  They  are  perfect  in  late 
September  for  the  fighting  season,  and  are  shed  in 
March.  The  bull  Elk  now  shapes  his  conduct  to 
his  weaponless  condition.  He  becomes  as  meek  as 

63 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

he  was  warlike.  And  so  far  from  battling  with  all 
of  their  own  sex  that  come  near,  these  big  * '  moollys  " 
gather  in  friendly  stag-parties  on  a  basis  of  equal 
loss,  and  haunt  the  upper  woods  whose  pasture  is 
rich  enough  to  furnish  the  high  power  nutriment 
needed  to  offset  the  exhausting  drain  of  growing 
such  mighty  horns  hi  such  minimum  time. 

They  are  more  free  from  flies  too  in  these  high 
places,  which  is  important,  for  even  the  antlers 
are  sensitive  while  growing.  They  are  even  more 
sensitive  than  the  rest  of  the  body,  besides  being 
less  protected  and  more  temptingly  filled  with 
blood.  A  mosquito  would  surely  think  he  had 
struck  it  rich  if  he  landed  on  the  hot,  palpitating 
end  of  a  Wapiti's  thin-skinned,  blood-gorged  ant- 
lers. It  is  quite  probable  that  some  of  the  queer 
bumps  we  see  on  the  finished  weapons  are  due  to 
mosquito  or  fly  stings  suffered  in  the  early  period 
of  formation. 

THE  BUGLING  ELK 

During  the  summer  the  bulls  attend  strictly  to 
their  self-development,  but  late  August  sees  them 
ready  to  seek  once  more  the  mixed  society  of  their 
kind.  Their  horns  are  fully  grown,  but  are  not 
quite  hardened  and  are  still  covered  with  velvet. 
By  the  end  of  September  these  weapons  are  hard 
66 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

and  cleaned  and  ready  for  use,  just  as  a  thrilling 
change  sets  in  in  the  body  and  mind  of  the  bull. 
He  is  full  of  strength  and  vigour,  his  coat  is  sleek, 
his  neck  is  swollen,  his  muscles  are  tense,  his  horns 
are  clean,  sharp,  and  strong,  and  at  their  heaviest. 
A  burning  ambition  to  distinguish  himself  in  war, 
and  win  favours  from  the  shy  ladies  of  his  kind, 
grows  in  him  to  a  perfect  insanity;  goaded  by  desire, 
boiling  with  animal  force,  and  raging  with  war-lust, 
he  mounts  some  ridge  in  the  valley  and  pours  forth 
his  very  soul  in  a  wild  far-reaching  battle-cry. 
Beginning  low  and  rising  in  pitch  to  a  veritable 
scream  of  piercing  intensity,  it  falls  to  a  rumbled 
growl,  which  broken  into  shorter  growls  dies  slowly 
away.  This  is  the  famed  bugling  of  the  Elk,  and 
however  grotesque  it  may  seem  when  heard  in  a 
zoo,  is  admitted  by  all  who  know  it  in  its  home- 
land to  be  the  most  inspiring  music  in  nature  — 
because  of  what  it  means.  Here  is  this  magnificent 
creature,  big  as  a  horse,  strong  as  a  bull,  and  fierce 
as  a  lion,  standing  hi  all  the  pride  and  glory  of  his 
primest  prime,  announcing  to  all  the  world:  "I 
am  out  for  a  fight!  Do  any  of  you  want  a 

F  - 1  -  G  -  H  -  T !-!-!?"    Nor  does  he  usually 

have  long  to  wait.    From  some  far  mountainside 
the  answer  comes: 
"Yes,  yes,  yes!    Yes,  I  Do,  Do,  Do,  Do!" 

67 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

A  few  more  bugle  blasts  and  the  two  great  giants 
meet; and  when  they  do,  all  the  world  knows  it  for  a 
mile  around,  without  it  being  seen.  The  crashing 
of  the  antlers  as  they  close,  the  roa^s  of  hate,  the 
squeals  of  combat,  thecracking  of  bsc.akingbranches 
as  they  charge  and  charge,  and  push  and  strive, 
and  —  sometimes  the  thud  of  a  heavy  body  going 
down. 

Many  a  time  have  I  heard  them  in  the  distant 
woods,  but  mostly  at  night.  Often  have  I  gone 
forth  warily  hoping  to  see  something  of  the  fight, 
for  we  all  love  to  see  a  fight  when  not  personally  in 
danger;  but  luck  has  been  against  me.  I  have 
been  on  the  battlefield  next  morning  to  see  where  the 
combatants  had  torn  up  an  acre  of  ground,  and 
trampled  unnumbered  saplings,  or  tossed  huge 
boulders  about  like  pebbles,  but  the  fight  I  missed. 

One  day  as  I  came  into  camp  in  the  Shoshonees, 
east  of  the  Park,  an  old  hunter  said:  "Say,  you! 
you  want  to  see  a  real  old-time  Elk  fight?  You 
go  up  on  that  ridge  back  of  the  corral  and  you'll  sure 
see  a  hull  bunch  of  'em  at  it;  not  one  pair  of  bulls, 
but  six  of  'em." 

I  hurried  away,  but  again  I  was  too  late;  I  saw 
nothing  but  the  trampled  ground,  the  broken  sap- 
lings, and  the  traces  of  the  turmoil;  the  battling 
giants  were  gone. 


Photo  by  John  Possum 

Xiv.    Elk  on  the  Yellowstone  in  winter:    (a)    Caught  in  eight  feet 
of  snow;  (b)  Bull  Elk  charging 


Photos  by  E.  T.  Setor. 


XV.    The  first  shots  at  the  Hoodoo  Cow 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

Back  I  went  and  from  the  hunter's  description 
made  the  sketch  which  I  give  below.  The  old 
man  said:  "Well,  you  sure  got  it  this  time. 
That's  exactly  like  it  was.  One  pair  was  jest 
foolin',  one  was  fencing  and  was  still  perlite;  but 
that  third  pair  was  a  playin'  the  game  for  keeps. 
An'  for  givin'  the  facts,  that's  away  ahead  of  any 
photograph  I  ever  seen. " 

Once  I  did  come  on  the  fatal  battle-ground,  but 
it  was  some  time  after  the  decision;  and  there  I 
found  the  body  of  the  one  who  did  not  win.  The 
antlers  are  a  fair  index  of  the  size  and  vigour  of  the 
stag,  and  if  the  fallen  one  was  so  big  and  strong, 
what  like  was  he  who  downed  him,  pierced  him 
through  and  left  him  on  the  plain. 

SNAPPING  A  CHARGING  BULL 

At  one  time  in  a  Californian  Park  I  heard  the 
war-bugle  of  an  Elk.  He  bawled  aloud  in  brazen, 
ringing  tones :  "Anybody  want  aF-I-G-H-T 
t-t-t-t  !!" 

I  extemporized  a  horn  and  answered  him  accord- 
ing to  his  mood.  "Yes,  I  do;  bring  it  ALONG!" 
and  he  brought  it  at  a  trot,  squealing  and  roaring 
as  he  came.  When  he  got  within  forty  yards 
he  left  the  cover  and  approached  me,  a  perfect 
incarnation  of  brute  ferocity  and  hate. 

69 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

His  ears  were  laid  back,  his  muzzle  raised,  his 
nose  curled  up,  his  lower  teeth  exposed,  his  mane 
was  bristling  and  in  his  eyes  there  blazed  a  mar- 
vellous fire  of  changing  opalescent  green.  On  he 
marched,  gritting  his  teeth  and  uttering  a  most 
unpleasantly  wicked  squeal. 

Then  suddenly  down  went  his  head,  and  he 
came  crash  at  me,  with  all  the  power  of  half  a  ton 
of  hate.  However,  I  was  not  so  much  exposed  as 
may  have  been  inferred.  I  was  safely  up  a  tree. 
And  there  I  sat  watching  that  crazy  bull  as  he 
prodded  the  trunk  with  his  horns,  and  snorted, 
and  raved  around,  telling  me  just  what  he  thought 
of  me,  inviting  him  to  a  fight  and  then  getting  up 
a  tree.  Finally  he  went  off  roaring  and  gritting 
his  teeth,  but  turning  back  to  cast  on  me  from 
time  to  time  the  deadly,  opaque  green  light  of  his 
mad,  malignant  eyes. 

A  friend  of  mine,  John  Fossum,  once  a  soldier 
attached  to  Fort  Yellowstone,  had  a  similar  ad- 
venture on  a  more  heroic  scale.  While  out  on 
a  camera  hunt  in  early  winter  he  descried  afar 
a  large  bull  Elk  lying  asleep  in  an  open  valley. 
At  once  Fossum  made  a  plan.  He  saw  that  he 
could  crawl  up  to  the  bull,  snap  him  where  he 
lay,  then  later  secure  a  second  picture  as  the 
creature  ran  for  the  timber.  The  first  part  of  the 
70 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

programme  was  carried  out  admirably.  Fossum 
got  within  fifty  feet  and  still  the  Elk  lay  sleeping. 
Then  the  camera  was  opened  out.  But  alas! 
that  little  pesky  "click,"  that  does  so  much  mis- 
chief, awoke  the  bull,  who  at  once  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  ran  —  not  for  the  woods  —but  for  the 
man.  Fossum  with  the  most  amazing  nerve  stood 
there  quietly  focussing  his  camera,  till  the  bull 
was  within  ten  feet,  then  pressed  the  button,  threw 
the  camera  into  the  soft  snow  and  ran  for  his  life 
with  the  bull  at  his  coat-tails.  It  would  have 
been  a  short  run  but  for  the  fact  that  they  reached 
a  deep  snowdrift  that  would  carry  the  man,  and 
would  not  carry  the  Elk.  Here  Fossum  escaped, 
while  the  bull  snorted  around,  telling  just  what  he 
meant  to  do  to  the  man  when  he  caught  him;  but 
he  was  not  to  be  caught,  and  at  last  the  bull  went 
off  grumbling  and  squealing. 

The  hunter  came  back,  recovered  his  camera,  and 
when  the  plate  was  developed  it  bore  the  picture 
No.  xiv,  b. 

It  shows  plainly  the  fighting  light  in  the  bull's 
eye,  the  back  laid  ears,  the  twisting  of  the  nose, 
and  the  rate  at  which  he  is  coming  is  evidenced 
in  the  stamping  feet  and  the  wind-blown  whiskers, 
and  yet  in  spite  of  the  peril  of  the  moment,  and 
the  fact  that  this  was  a  hand  camera,  there  is  no 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

sign  of  shake  on  landscape  or  on  Elk,  and  the 
picture  is  actually  over-exposed. 

THE  HOODOO  COW 

One  of  the  best  summer  ranges  for  Elk  is  near 
the  southeast  corner  of  the  Yellowstone  Lake, 
and  here  it  was  my  luck  to  have  the  curious  ex- 
perience that  I  call  the  "Story  of  a  Hoodoo  Elk." 

In  the  September  of  1912,  when  out  with  Tom 
Newcomb  of  Gardiner,  I  had  this  curious  adventure, 
that  I  shall  not  try  to  explain.  We  had  crossed 
the  Yellowstone  Lake  in  a  motor  boat  and  were 
camped  on  the  extreme  southeast  Finger,  at  a 
point  twenty-five  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  and 
over  fifty  as  the  trail  goes,  from  any  human 
dwelling.  We  were  in  the  least  travelled  and 
most  primitive  part  of  the  Park.  The  animals  here 
are  absolutely  in  the  wild  condition  and  there  was 
no  one  in  the  region  but  ourselves. 

On  Friday,  September  6th,  we  sighted  some  Elk 
on  the  lake  shore  at  sunrise,  but  could  not  get 
nearer  than  two  hundred  yards,  at  which  distance 
I  took  a  poor  snap.  The  Elk  wheeled  and  ran 
out  of  sight.  I  set  off  on  foot  with  the  guide 
about  8:30.  We  startled  one  or  two  Elk,  but 
they  were  very  wild,  and  I  got  no  chance  to  photo- 
graph. 

72 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

About  10:30,  when  several  miles  farther  in  the 
wilderness,  we  sighted  a  cow  Elk  standing  in  a 
meadow  with  a  Coyote  sneaking  around  about 
one  hundred  yards  away.  "That's  my  Elk,"  I  said, 
and  we  swung  under  cover.  By  keeping  in  a  little 
pine  woods,  I  got  within  one  hundred  yards,  taking 
picture  No.  i,  Plate  XV.  As  she  did  not  move, 
I  said  to  Tom:  "You  stay  here  while  I  creep  out 
to  that  sage  brush  and  I'll  get  a  picture  of  her  at 
fifty  yards."  By  crawling  on  my  hands  I  was 
able  to  do  this  and  got  picture  No.  2,  Now  I 
noticed  a  bank  of  tall  grass  some  thirty  yards  from 
the  cow,  and  as  she  was  still  quiet,  I  crawled  to 
that  and  got  picture  No.  3.  She  did  not  move 
and  I  was  near  enough  to  see  that  she  was  dozing 
in  a  sun-bath.  So  I  stood  up  and  beckoned  to 
Tom  to  come  out  of  the  woods  at  once.  He  came 
on  nearly  speechless  with  amazement.  "What 
is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  whispered. 

I  replied  calmly:  "I  told  you  I  was  a  medicine 
man,  perhaps  you'll  believe  me  now.  Don't  you 
see  I've  made  Elk  medicine  and  got  her  hypnotized? 
Now  I  am  going  to  get  up  to  about  twenty  yards 
and  take  her  picture.  While  I  do  so,  you  use  the 
second  camera  and  take  me  in  the  act."  So  Tom 
took  No.  4  while  I  was  taking  No.  5,  and  later  No.  6. 

"Now,"  I  said,  "let's  go  and  talk  to  her."    We 

73 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

walked  up  to  within  ten  yards.  The  Elk  did  not 
move,  so  I  said:  "Well,  Bossie,  you  have  callers. 
Won't  you  please  look  this  way?  "  She  did  so  and 
I  secured  shot  No.  7,  Plate  XVI. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said.  "Now  be  good  enough 
to  lie  down."  She  did,  and  I  took  No.  9. 

I  went  up  and  stroked  her,  so  did  Tom;  then 
giving  her  a  nudge  of  my  foot  I  said:  "Now 
stand  up  again  and  look  away." 

She  rose  up,  giving  me  Nos.  8,  10  and  n. 

"Thank  you,  Bossie!  now  you  can  go!"  And 
as  she  went  off  I  fired  my  last  film,  getting  No.  12. 

By  this  time  Tom  had  used  up  all  his  allowable 
words,  and  was  falling  back  on  the  contraband 
kind  to  express  his  surging  emotions. 

"What  the is  the 


meaning 


of  this ?" 

and  so  on. 

I  replied  calmly:  "Maybe  you'll  believe  I  have 
Elk  medicine.  Now  show  me  a  Moose  and  I'll 
give  you  some  new  shocks." 

Our  trip  homeward  occupied  a  couple  of  hours, 
during  which  I  heard  little  from  Tom  but  a  snort 
or  two  of  puzzlement. 

As  we  neared  camp  he  turned  on  me  suddenly 
and  said:  "Now,  Mr.  Seton,  what  is  the  meaning 

74 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

of  this?  That  wasn't  a  sick  Elk;  she  was  fat  and 
hearty.  She  wasn't  poisoned  or  doped,  'cause 
there's  no  possibility  of  that.  It  wasn't  a  tame 
Elk,  'cause  there  ain't  any,  and,  anyhow,  we're 
seventy  miles  from  a  house.  Now  what  is  the 
meaning  of  it?" 

I  replied  solemnly:  "Tom!  I  don't  know  any 
more  than  you  do.  I  was  as  much  surprised  as 
you  were  at  everything  but  one,  and  that  was  when 
she  lay  down.  I  didn't  tell  her  to  lie  down  till 
I  saw  she  was  going  to  do  it,  or  to  get  up  either, 
or  look  the  other  way,  and  if  you  can  explain  the 
incident,  you've  got  the  field  to  yourself." 

THE  MOOSE,  THE  BIGGEST  OF  ALL  DEER 

The  Moose  is  one  of  the  fine  animals  that  have 
responded  magnificently  to  protection  in  Canada, 
Maine,  Minnesota,  and  the  Yellowstone  Park.  For- 
merly they  were  very  scarce  in  Wyoming  and 
confined  to  the  southwest  corner  of  the  Reserve. 
But  all  they  needed  was  a  little  help;  and,  receiving 
it,  they  have  flourished  and  multiplied.  Their 
numbers  have  grown  by  natural  increase  from  about 
fifty  in  1897  to  some  five  hundred  and  fifty  to-day; 
and  they  have  spread  into  all  the  southern  half  of 
the  Park  wherever  they  find  surroundings  to  their 
taste;  that  is,  thick  level  woods  with  a  mixture  of 

75 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

timber,  as  the  Moose  is  a  brush-eater,  and  does  not 
flourish  on  a  straight  diet  of  evergreen. 

The  first  Deer,  almost  the  only  one  I  ever  killed, 
was  a  Moose  and  that  was  far  back  in  the  days  of 
my  youth.  On  the  Yellowstone,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  I  never  saw  one,  although  I  found  tracks  and 
signs  in  abundance  last  September  near  the  Lake. 

MY  PARTNER'S  MOOSE-HUNT 

Though  I  have  never  since  fired  at  a  Moose,  I 
was  implicated  in  the  killing  of  one  a  few  years  later. 

It  was  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  in  the  Hunting 
Moon,  I  was  in  the  Kippewa  Country  with  my 
partner  and  some  chosen  friends  on  a  camping 
trip.  Our  companions  were  keen  to  get  a  Moose; 
and  daily  all  hands  but  myself  were  out  with  the 
expert  Moose  callers.  But  each  night  the  company 
reassembled  around  the  campfire  only  to  exchange 
their  stories  of  failure. 

Moose  there  were  in  plenty,  and  good  guides, 
Indian,  halfbreed  and  white,  but  luck  was  against 
them  all.  Without  being  a  very  expert  caller  I 
have  done  enough  of  it  to  know  the  game  and  to 
pass  for  a  "caller."  So  one  night  I  said  in  a  spirit 
of  half  jest :  "I'll  have  to  go  out  and  show  you  men 
how  to  call  a  Moose."  I  cut  a  good  piece  of 
birch-bark  and  fashioned  carefully  a  horn.  Dis- 
76 


Photos  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xvi.     The  last  shots  at  the  Hoodoo  Cow 


Photos  by  E.  T.  Seton 

XVH.     Elk  on  the  Yellowstone:     (a)  In  Billings  Park; 
(b)  Wild  Cow  Elk 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

daining  all  civilized  materials  as  "bad  medicine," 
I  stitched  the  edge  with  a  spruce  root  or  wattap, 
and  soldered  it  neatly  with  pine  gum  flowed  and 
smoothed  with  a  blazing  brand.  And  then  I 
added  the  finishing  touch,  a  touch  which  made  the 
Indian  and  the  halfbreed  shake  their  heads  omi- 
nously; I  drew  two  *  'hoodoo  Moose" — that  is,  men 
with  Moose  heads  dancing  around  the  horn. 

THE    SIREN    CALL 

"You  put  that  on  before  you  catch  one  Moose, 
Moose  never  come,"  they  said. 

Still  I  put  them  on,  and  near  sundown  set  off 
in  a  canoe,  with  one  guide  as  paddler,  and  my 
partner  in  charge  of  the  only  gun.  In  half  an 
hour  we  reached  a  lonely  lake  surrounded  by 
swamps,  and  woods  of  mixed  timber.  The  sunset 
red  was  purpling  all  the  horizon  belt  of  pines,  and 
the  peace  of  the  still  hour  was  on  lake  and  swamp. 
With  some  little  sense  of  profanity  I  raised  the 
hoodoo  horn  to  my  mouth,  gave  one  or  two  high- 
pitched,  impatient  grunts,  then  poured  forth  the 
softly  rising,  long-drawn  love-call  of  a  cow  Moose, 
all  alone,  and  "Oh,  so  lonesome." 

The  guide  nodded  in  approval,  "That's  all 
right,"  then  I  took  out  my  watch  and  waited  for 
fifteen  minutes.  For,  strange  to  tell,  it  seems  to 

77 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

repel  the  bull  Moose  and  alarm  him  if  the  cow 
seems  over-eager.  There  is  a  certain  etiquette 
to  be  observed;  it  is  easy  to  spoil  all  by  trying  to  go 
too  fast.  And  it  does  not  do  to  guess  at  the  time; 
when  one  is  waiting  so  hard,  the  minute  is  like 
twenty. 

So  when  fifteen  minutes  really  had  gone,  I 
raised  the  magic  horn  again,  emitted  a  few  hank- 
ering whines,  then  broke  into  a  louder,  farther 
reaching  call  that  thrilled  up  echoes  from  across 
the  lake  and  seemed  to  fill  the  woods  for  miles 
around  with  its  mellifluous  pleading. 

Again  I  waited  and  gave  a  third  call  just  as  the 
sun  was  gone.  Then  we  strained  our  eyes  and 
watched  at  every  line  of  woods,  and  still  were 
watching  when  the  sound  of  a  falling  tree  was  heard 
far  off  on  a  hillside. 

Then  there  was  a  sort  of  after-clap  as  though  the 
tree  had  lodged  the  first  time,  and  hanging  half  a 
minute,  had  completed  its  fall  with  breaking  of 
many  branches,  and  a  muffled  crash.  We  gazed 
hard  that  way,  and  the  guide,  a  very  young  one, 
whispered,  "Bear!" 

There  was  silence,  then  a  stick  broke  nearer, 
and  a  deep,  slow  snort  was  heard;  it  might  have  been 
the  "woof"  of  a  Bear,  but  I  was  in  doubt.  Then 
without  any  more  noises,  a  white  array  of  shining 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Leg?  of  Speed 

antler  tips  appeared  above  the  near  willows,  and 
swiftly,  silently,  there  glided  into  view  a  huge  bull 
Moose. 

"How  solid  and  beefy  he  looks!"  was  my  first 
thought.  He  "  woof ed  "  again,  and  the  guide,  with 
an  eye  always  to  the  head,  whispered  to  my  partner: 
"Take  him!  he's  a  stunner. " 

Striding  on  he  came,  with  wonderful  directness, 
seeing  I  had  not  called  for  twenty  minutes,  and 
that  when  he  was  a  mile  or  more  away. 

As  he  approached  within  forty  yards,  the  guide 
whispered,  "Now  is  your  chance.  You'll  never 
get  a  better  one."  My  partner  whispered, 
"Steady  the  canoe."  I  drove  my  paddle  point 
into  the  sandy  bottom,  the  guide  did  the  same  at 
the  other  end,  and  she  arose  standing  in  the  canoe 
and  aimed.  Then  came  the  wicked  "  crack  "  of  the 
rule,  the  "pat"  of  the  bullet,  the  snort  and  whirl 
of  the  great,  gray,  looming  brute,  and  a  second  shot 
as  he  reached  the  willows,  only  to  go  down  with  a 
crash,  and  sob  his  life  out  on  the  ground  behind  the 
leafy  screen. 

It  all  seemed  so  natural,  so  exactly  according  to 
the  correct  rules  of  sporting  books  and  tales,  and 
yet  so  unlovely. 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair  killer, 
and  heart  wrenches  were  hers,  as  the  great  sobs 

79 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

grew  less  and  ceased;  and  a  different  sob  was  heard 
at  my  elbow,  as  we  stood  beside  the  biggest  Moose 
that  had  been  killed  there  in  years.  It  was  tri- 
umph I  suppose;  it  is  a  proud  thing  to  act  a  lie  so 
cleverly; the  Florentine  assassins  often  decoyed  and 
trapped  a  brave  man,  by  crying  like  a  woman. 
But  I  have  never  called  a  Moose  since,  and  that 
rifle  has  hung  unused  in  its  rack  from  that  to  the 
present  day. 

THE  BIGGEST  OF  OUR  GAME  —  THE  BUFFALO 

"Yes,  that's  a  buffalo-bird,"  said  the  old  Indian, 
pointing  to  some  black  birds,  with  gray  mates, 
that  flitted  or  ran  across  the  plain.  "Pretty  bad 
luck  when  the  Buffalo  gone.  Them  little  birds 
make  their  nest  in  a  Buffalo's  wool,  right  on  his 
head,  and  when  the  Buffalo  all  gone,  seem  like  the 
buffalo-bird  die  too;  'cause  what's  the  use,  no  got 
any  nest. " 

This  is  a  fragment  that  reached  me  long  ago  in 
Montana.  It  seemed  like  a  lusty  myth,  whose 
succulent  and  searching  roots  were  in  a  bottomless 
bog,  with  little  chance  of  sound  foundation.  But 
the  tale  bore  the  searchlight  better  than  I  thought. 
For  it  seems  that  the  buffalo-bird  followed  the 
Buffalo  everywhere,  and  was  fond  of  nesting,  not! 
in  the  shaggy  mane  between  the  horns  of  the  ruling 
80 


Photos  by  G.  G.  Selon 

Xix.    Buffalo    Groups  (a)  Bull    and    Cow    at     Banff;  (b)  Yellow- 
stone Bulls 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

monarch,  but  on  any  huge  head  it  might  find 
after  the  bull  had  fallen,  and  the  skull,  with 
mane  attached,  lay  discarded  on  the  plain.  While 
always,  even  when  nesting  on  the  ground,  the 
wool  of  the  Buffalo  was  probably  used  as  lining  of 
the  black-bird' s  nest.  I  know  of  one  case  where  an 
attendant  bird  that  was  too  crippled  to  fly  when 
autumn  came,  wintered  in  the  mane  of  a  large 
Buffalo  bull.  It  gathered  seed  by  day,  when  the 
bull  pawed  up  the  snow,  and  roosted  at  night 
between  the  mighty  horns,  snuggling  in  the  wool, 
with  its  toes  held  warm  against  the  monster's 
blood-hot  neck. 

In  most  of  the  Northwest  the  birds  have  found  a 
poor  substitute  for  the  Buffalo  in  the  range-cattle, 
but  oh!  how  they  must  miss  the  wool 

THE  SHRUNKEN  RANGE 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  the  American 
Buffalo  ranged  as  far  east  as  Syracuse,  Washington 
City,  and  Carolina,  that  they  populated  the  for- 
ests in  small  numbers,  as  well  as  the  plains  in  great 
herds.  I  estimate  them  at  over  50,000,000  in  A.D. 
1500.  In  1895  they  were  down  to  800;  probably 
this  was  the  low-ebb  year.  Since  then  they  have 
increased  under  judicious  protection,  and  now  reach 
about  3,000. 

81 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

In  the  June  of  1897,  as  I  stood  on  a  hill  near 
Baronett's  Bridge,  overlooking  the  Yellowstone  just 
beyond  Yancey's,  with  an  old  timer,  Dave  Roberts, 
he  said:  "Twenty  years  ago,  when  I  first  saw 
this  valley,  it  was  black-speckled  with  Buffalo,  and 
every  valley  in  the  Park  was  the  same."  Now 
the  only  sign  of  the  species  was  a  couple  of  old 
skulls  crumbling  in  the  grass. 

In  1900  the  remnant  in  the  Park  had  fallen  to 
thirty,  and  their  extinction  seemed  certain.  But 
the  matter  was  taken  up  energetically  by  the 
officers  in  charge.  Protection,  formerly  a  legal 
fiction,  was  made  an  accomplished  fact.  The 
Buffalo  have  increased  ever  since,  and  to-day 
number  200,  with  the  possibility  of  some  strag- 
glers. 

We  need  not  dwell  on  the  story  of  the  extinction 
of  the  great  herds.  That  is  familiar  to  all,  *  but  it  is 
well  to  remind  the  reader  that  it  was  inevitable. 
The  land  was,  or  would  be,  needed  for  human 
settlement,  with  which  the  Buffalo  herds  were 
incompatible;  only  we  brought  it  on  forty  or  fifty 
years  before  it  was  necessary.  "  Could  we  not  save 
the  Buffalo  as  range- cattle?"  is  the  question  that 
most  ask .  The  answer  is :  It  has  been  tried  a  hun- 
dred times  and  all  attempts  have  been  eventually 

•See  "Life  Histories  of  Northern  Animals,"  by  E.  T.  Seton. 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

frustrated  by  the  creature's  temper.  Buffalo, 
male  or  female,  are  always  more  or  less  dangerous; 
they  cannot  be  tamed  or  trusted.  They  are 
always  subject  to  stampede,  and  once  started, 
nothing,  not  even  sure  destruction,  stops  them; 
so  hi  spite  of  their  suitability  to  the  climate, 
their  hardihood,  their  delicious  meat,  and  their 
valuable  robes,  the  attempts  at  domesticating 
the  Buffalo  have  not  yet  been  made  a  success. 

A  small  herd  of  a  dozen  or  so  is  kept  in  a  fenced 
range  near  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  where  the 
traveller  should  not  fail  to  try  for  pictures,  and 
with  them  he  will  see  the  cowbirds,  that  in  some 
regions  replace  the  true  buffalo-birds.  Perched 
on  their  backs  or  heads  or  running  around  them 
on  the  ground  are  these  cattle  birds  as  of  yore, 
like  boats  around  a  man-o'-war,  or  sea-gulls  around 
a  whale;  living  their  lives,  snapping  up  the  tor- 
menting flies,  and  getting  in  return  complete  pro- 
tection from  every  creature  big  enough  to  seem  a 
menace  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  time  King  of  the 
Plains. 

THE  DOOMED  ANTELOPE  AND  HIS  HELIOGRAPH 

The  Antelope,  or  Pronghorn,  is  one  of  the  most 
peculiar  animals  in  the  world.  It  is  the  only 
known  ruminant  that  has  hollow  horns  on  a  bony 

83 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

core  as  with  cattle,  and  also  has  them  branched 
and  shed  each  year  as  in  the  Deer. 

It  is  a  creature  of  strangely  mixed  characteristics, 
for  it  has  the  feet  of  a  Giraffe,  the  glands  of  a 
goat,  the  coat  of  a  Deer,  the  horns  of  an  ox  and 
Deer  combined,  the  eyes  of  a  Gazelle,  the  build 
of  an  Antelope,  and  —  the  speed  of  the  wind. 
It  is  the  swiftest  four-footed  creature  native  to  the 
plains,  and  so  far  as  known  there  is  nothing  but  a 
blooded  race  horse  that  can  outrun  it  on  a  mile. 

But  the  peculiarity  that  is  most  likely  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  traveller  is  the  white  disc  on  its 
rear. 

The  first  day  I  was  in  the  Yellowstone  I  was 
riding  along  the  upland  beyond  Blacktail  Creek 
with  T.  E.  Hofer.  Miles  away  to  the  southeast 
we  saw  some  white  specks  showing,  flashing 
and  disappearing.  Then  as  far  to  the  north- 
easterly we  saw  others.  Hofer  now  remarked, 
"Two  bunches  of  Antelope."  Then  later  there 
were  flashes  between  and  we  knew  that  these  two 
bands  had  come  together.  How? 

When  you  have  a  chance  in  a  zoo  or  elsewhere  to 
watch  Antelope  at  short  range  you  will  see  the 
cause  of  these  flashes.  By  means  of  a  circular 
muscle  on  each  buttock  they  can  erect  the  white 
hair  of  the  rump  patch  into  a  large,  flat,  snow- 

84 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xx.    Near  Yellowstone  Gate:  (a)  Antelope    (b)  Captive  Wolf 


•-'-•• 

-V 


^  •    - 

>•*  ^  -«>  - 


& 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Selon 

xxi.    Mountain  Sheep  on  Mt.  Evarts 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

white  disc  which  shines  in  the  sun,  and  shows 
afar  as  a  bright  white  spot. 

This  action  is  momentary  or  very  brief;  the 
spread  disc  goes  down  again  in  a  few  seconds.  The 
flash  is  usually  a  signal  of  danger,  although  it  an- 
swers equally  well  for  a  recognition  mark. 

In  1897  the  Antelope  in  the  Park  were  estimated 
at  1,500.  Now  they  have  dwindled  to  about  one 
third  of  that,  and,  in  spite  of  good  protection,  con- 
tinue to  go  down.  They  do  not  flourish  when  con- 
fined even  in  a  large  area,  and  we  have  reason  to  fear 
that  one  of  the  obscure  inexorable  laws  of  nature 
is  working  now  to  shelve  the  Antelope  with  the 
creatures  that  have  passed  away.  A  small  band 
is  yet  to  be  seen  wintering  on  the  prairie  near 
Gardiner. 

THE    RESCUED    BIGHORN 

At  one  time  the  Bighorn  abounded  along  all 
the  rivers  where  there  was  rough  land  as  far  east 
as  the  western  edge  of  the  Dakotas,  westerly 
to  the  Cascades,  and  in  the  mountains  from  Mexico 
and  Southern  California  to  Alaska. 

In  one  form  or  another  the  Mountain  Sheep 
covered  this  large  region,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
in  the  United  States  alone  their  numbers  were 
millions.  But  the  dreadful  age  of  the  repeating 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

rifle  and  lawless  skin-hunter  came  on,  till  the 
end  of  the  last  century  saw  the  Bighorn  in  the 
United  States  reduced  to  a  few  hundreds;  they 
were  well  along  the  sunset  trail. 

But  the  New  York  Zoological  Society,  the  Camp 
Fire  Club,  and  other  societies  of  naturalists  and 
sportsmen,  bestirred  themselves  mightily.  They 
aroused  all  thinking  men  to  the  threatening  danger 
of  extinction;  good  laws  were  passed  and  then 
enforced.  The  danger  having  been  realized,  the 
calamity  was  averted,  and  now  the  Sheep  are  on 
the  increase  in  many  parts  of  the  West. 

During  the  epoch  of  remorseless  destruction  the 
few  survivors  were  the  wildest  of  wild  things;  they 
would  not  permit  the  approach  of  a  man  within 
a  mile.  But  our  new  way  of  looking  at  the  Bighorn 
has  taught  them  a  new  way  of  looking  at  us,  as 
every  traveller  in  Colorado  or  the  protected  parts 
of  Wyoming  will  testify. 

In  1897  I  spent  several  months  rambling  on  the 
upper  ranges  of  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  I  saw 
not  a  single  Sheep,  although  it  was  estimated  that 
there  were  nearly  a  hundred  of  the  scared  fugitives 
hiding  and  flying  among  the  rocks. 

In  1912  it  was  believed  that  in  spite  of  poachers, 
Cougars,  snow  slides,  and  scab  contracted  from 
domestic  sheep,  the  Bighorn  hi  the  Yellowstone  Park 
86 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

had  increased  to  considerably  over  two  hundred, 
and  the  traveller  can  find  them  with  fair  certainty 
if  he  will  devote  a  few  days  to  the  quest  around 
Mt.  Evarts,  Washburn,  or  the  well-known  ranges. 

In  September,  1912,  I  left  Gardiner  with  Tom 
Newcomb's  outfit.  I  was  riding  at  the  end  of  the 
procession  watching  in  all  directions,  when  far 
up  on  the  slide  rock  I  caught  sight  of  a  Sheep. 
A  brief  climb  brought  me  within  plain  though  not 
near  view,  to  learn  that  there  were  half  a  dozen  at 
least,  and  I  took  a  few  shots  with  my  camera.  I 
think  there  were  many  more  hidden  in  the  tall 
sage  behind,  but  I  avoided  alarming  them,  so  did 
not  find  out. 

There  were  neither  rams  nor  lambs  with  this 
herd  of  ewes.  The  rams  keep  their  own  company 
all  summer  and  live,  doubtless,  far  higher  in  the 
mountains. 

On  Mt.  Washburn  a  week  later  I  had  the  luck 
to  find  a  dozen  ewes  with  their  lambs;  but  the 
sky  was  dark  with  leaden  clouds  and  the  light  so 
poor  that  I  got  no  good  results. 

In  winter,  as  I  learn  from  Colonel  Brett,  the 
Sheep  are  found  in  small  bands  between  the 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs  and  Gardiner,  for  there  is 
good  feed  there,  and  far  less  snow  than  in  the 
upper  ranges.  I  have  just  heard  that  this  winter 

87 


Horns  and  Hoofs  and  Legs  of  Speed 

four  great  rams  are  seen  there  every  day  with 
about  forty  other  Sheep;  and  they  are  so  tame  that 
one  can  get  pictures  within  ten  feet  if  desired. 
Alas!  that  I  have  to  be  so  far  away  with  such 
thrilling  opportunities  going  to  waste. 


V 

Bats    in   the 
Devil's  Kitchen 


V 
Bats  in  the  Devil's  Kitclien 

IT  IS  unfortunate  that  the  average  person  has 
a  deep  prejudice  against  the  Bat.  Without 
looking  or  thinking  for  himself,  he  accepts 
a  lot  of  absurd  tales  about  the  winged  one,  and 
passes  them  on  and  on,  never  caring  for  the  in- 
justice he  does  or  the  pleasure  he  loses.  I  have 
loved  the  Bat  ever  since  I  came  to  know  him; 
that  is,  all  my  mature  life.  He  is  the  climax 
of  creation  in  many  things,  highly  developed  in 
brain,  marvellously  keen  in  senses,  clad  in  exqui- 
site fur  and  equipped,  above  all,  with  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  flight.  He  is  the  prototype  and  the 
realization  of  the  Fairy  of  the  Wood  we  loved 
so  much  as  children,  and  so  hated  to  be  robbed 
of  by  grown-ups,  who  should  have  known 
better. 

I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  have  a  Bat  colony 
where  I  could  see  it  daily,  and  would  go  a  long 
way  to  meet  some  new  kind  of  Bat. 


Bats  in  the  Devil's  Kitchen 

I  never  took  much  interest  in  caverns,  or  geysers, 
or  in  any  of  the  abominable  cavities  of  the  earth 
that  nature  so  plainly  meant  to  keep  hidden  from 
our  eyes.  I  shall  not  forget  the  unpleasant  sen- 
sations I  had  when  first,  in  1897,  I  visited  the 
Yellowstone  Wonderland  and  stood  gazing  at 
that  abominable  Mud  Geyser,  which  is  even  worse 
to-day.  The  entry  in  my  journal  of  the  time 
runs  thus: 

"The  Mud  Geyser  is  unlike  anything  that  can 
be  seen  elsewhere.  One  hears  about  the  bowels 
of  the  earth;  this  surely  is  the  end  of  one  of 
them.  They  talk  of  the  mouth  of  hell;  this  is  the 
mouth  with  a  severe  fit  of  vomiting.  The  filthy 
muck  is  spewed  from  an  unseen  gullet  at  one  side 
into  a  huge  upright  mouth  with  sounds  of  ooz- 
ing, retching  and  belching.  Then  as  quickly  re- 
swallowed  with  noises  expressive  of  loathing  on 
its  own  part,  while  noxious  steam  spreads  dis- 
gusting, unpleasant  odours  all  around.  The  whole 
process  is  quickly  repeated,  and  goes  on  and  on, 
and  has  gone  on  for  ages,  and  will  go.  And  yet 
one  feels  that  this  is  merely  the  steam  vent  outside 
of  the  huge  factory  where  all  the  actual  work  is 
being  done.  One  does  not  really  see  the  thing  at 
all,  but  only  stands  outside  the  building  where  it  is 
92 


Bats  in  the  Devif  s  Kitchen 

going  on.   One  never  wishes  to  see  it  a  second  time. 
All  are  disgusted  by  it,  but  all  are  fascinated." 

No,  I  like  them  not.  I  have  a  natural  antipathy 
to  the  internal  arrangements  of  Mother  Earth. 
I  might  almost  say  a  delicacy  about  gazing  on 
such  exposure.  Anyhow,  we  shall  all  get  under- 
ground soon  enough;  and  I  usually  drop  off  when 
our  party  prepares  to  explore  dark,  horrible,  smelly 
underground  places  that  have  no  possible  claim 
(I  hold)  for  the  normal  being  of  healthy  instincts. 

But  near  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  is  a  hell- 
hole that  did  attract  me.  It  is  nothing  else  than 
the  stuffy,  blind  alley  known  as  the  Devil's  Kitchen. 
There  is  no  cooking  going  on  at  present,  probably 
because  it  is  not  heated  up  enough,  but  there  is  a 
peculiarly  hot,  close  feeling  suggestive  of  the 
Monkey  house  in  an  old-time  zoo.  I  went  down 
this,  not  that  I  was  interested  in  the  Satanic 
cuisine,  but  because  my  ancient  antipathy  was 
routed  by  my  later  predilection  —  I  was  told  that 
Bats ' 'occurred"  in  the  kitchen.  Sure  enough,  I 
found  them,  half  a  dozen,  so  far  as  one  could  tell 
in  the  gloom,  and  thanks  to  the  Park  Superin- 
tendent, Colonel  L.  M.  Brett,  I  secured  a  specimen 
which,  to  my  great  surprise,  turned  out  to  be  the 
long-eared  Bat,  a  Southern  species  never  before 

93 


Bats  in  the  Devil's  Kitchen 

discovered  north  of  Colorado.  It  will  be  interest- 
ing to  know  whether  they  winter  here  or  go  south, 
as  do  many  of  their  kin.  They  would  have  to 
go  a  long  way  before  they  would  find  another 
bedroom  so  warm  and  safe.  Even  if  they  go  as 
far  as  the  equator,  with  its  warmth  and  its  pests, 
they  would  probably  have  reason  to  believe  that 
the  happiest  nights  of  their  lives  were  those  spent 
in  the  Devil's  Kitchen. 


VI 

The  Well-meaning 
Skunk 


VI 

The  Well-meaning  Skunk 

I  HAVE  a  profound  admiration  for  the  Skunk. 
Indeed,  I  once  maintained  that  this  annual 
was  the  proper  emblem,  of  America.  It  is, 
first  of  all,  peculiar  to  this  continent.  It  has 
stars  on  its  head  and  stripes  on  its  body.  It  is  an 
ideal  citizen;  minds  its  own  business,  harms  no 
one,  and  is  habitually  inoffensive,  as  long  as  it 
is  left  alone;  but  it  will  face  any  one  or  any 
number  when  aroused.  It  has  a  wonderful  nat- 
ural ability  to  take  the  offensive;  and  no  man 
ever  yet  came  to  grips  with  a  Skunk  without 
being  sadly  sorry  for  it  afterward. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  all  this,  and  the  fact 
that  several  other  countries  have  prior  claims 
on  the  Eagle,  I  could  not  secure,  for  my  view, 
sufficient  popular  support  to  change  the  national 
emblem. 

From  Atlantic  to  Pacific  and  from  Mexico  far 
north  into  the  wilds  of  Canada  the  Skunk  is  found, 

97 


The  Well-meaning  Skunk 

varying  with  climate  in  size  and  colour  indeed,  but 
everywhere  the  same  in  character  and  hi  mode  of 
defense. 

It  abounds  in  the  broken  country  that  lies  be- 
tween forest  and  prairie,  but  seems  to  avoid  the 
thicker  woods  as  well  as  the  higher  peaks. 

In  Yellowstone  Park  it  is  not  common,  but  is 
found  occasionally  about  Mammoth  Hot  Springs 
and  Yancey's,  at  which  latter  place  I  had  much 
pleasant  acquaintance  with  its  kind. 

HIS  SMELL-GUN 

Every  one  knows  that  the  animal  can  make  a 
horrible  smell  in  defending  itself,  but  most  persons 
do  not  realize  what  the  smell  is,  or  how  it  is  made. 
First  of  all,  and  this  should  be  in  capitals,  it  has 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  kidneys  or  with  the 
sex  organs.  It  is  simply  a  highly  specialized  musk 
secreted  by  a  gland,  or  rather,  a  pair  of  them,  located 
under  the  tail.  It  is  used  for  defense  when  the 
Skunk  is  in  peril  of  his  life,  or  thinks  he  is.  But 
a  Skunk  may  pass  his  whole  life  without  using  it 

He  can  throw  it  to  a  distance  of  seven  to  ten  feet 
according  to  his  power  or  the  wind.  If  it  reaches 
the  eyes  of  his  assailant  it  blinds  him  temporarily. 
If  it  enters  his  mouth  it  sets  up  a  frightful  nausea. 
If  the  vapour  gets  into  his  lungs,  it  chokes  as  well  as 


XXH.    Trackjrecord  of  Bobcat's  adventure  with  a  Skunk 


The  Well-meaning  Sktmfc 

nauseates.  There  are  cases  on  record  of  men  and 
dogs  being  permanently  blinded  by  this  awful 
spray.  And  there  is  one  case  of  a  boy  being  killed 
by  it. 

Most  Americans  know  somewhat  of  its  terrors, 
but  few  of  them  realize  the  harmlessness  of  the 
Skunk  when  let  alone.  In  remote  places  I  find 
men  who  still  think  that  this  creature  goes  about 
shooting  as  wildly  and  wantonly  as  any  drunken 
cowboy. 

THE  CRUELTY  OF  STEEL  TRAPS 

A  few  days  ago  while  walking  with  a  friend  in 
the  woods  we  came  on  a  Skunk.  My  companion 
shouted  to  the  dog  and  captured  him  to  save  him 
from  a  possible  disaster,  then  called  to  me  to  keep 
back  and  let  the  Skunk  run  away.  But  the  fear- 
less one  in  sable  and  ermine  did  not  run,  and  I  did 
not  keep  back,  but  I  walked  up  very  gently.  The 
Skunk  stood  his  ground  and  raised  his  tail  high 
over  his  back,  the  sign  of  fight.  I  talked  to  him, 
still  drawing  nearer;  then,  when  only  ten  feet  away, 
was  surprised  to  see  that  one  of  his  feet  was  in  a 
trap  and  terribly  mangled. 

I  stooped  down,  saying  many  pleasant  things 
about  my  friendliness,  etc.  The  Skunk's  tail 
slowly  lowered  and  I  came  closer  up.  Still,  I  did 


^1 


The  Well-meaning  Sfctmfc 

not  care  to  handle  the  wild  and  tormented  thing  on 
such  short  acquaintance,  so  I  got  a  small  barrel  and 
quietly  placed  it  over  him,  then  removed  the  trap 
and  brought  him  home,  where  he  is  now  living  in 
peace  and  comfort. 

I  mention  this  to  show  how  gentle  and  judicious 
a  creature  the  Skunk  is  when  gently  and  judiciously 
approached.  It  is  a  sad  commentary  on  our  modes 
of  dealing  with  wild  life  when  I  add  that  as  after- 
ward appeared  this  Skunk  had  been  struggling  in 
the  tortures  of  that  trap  for  three  days  and  three 
nights. 

FRIENDLINESS  OF  THE  SKUNK 

These  remarks  are  preliminary  to  an  account  of 
my  adventures  with  a  family  of  Skunks  in  the  Park. 
During  the  summer  I  spent  in  the  little  shanty 
still  to  be  seen  opposite  Yancey's,  I  lost  no  oppor- 
tunity of  making  animal  investigations.  One  of 
my  methods  was  to  sweep  the  dust  on  the  trail  and 
about  the  cabin  quite  smooth  at  night  so  that  any 
creature  passing  should  leave  me  his  tracks  and  I 
should  be  sure  that  they  were  recent. 

One  morning  on  going  out  I  found  the  fresh 
tracks  of  a  Skunk.  Next  night  these  were  seen 
again,  in  fact,  there  were  two  sets  of  them.  A  day 
or  so  later  the  cook  at  the  nearby  log  hotel  an- 


The  Well-meaning  Skunk 

nounced  that  a  couple  of  Skunks  came  every  even- 
ing to  feed  at  the  garbage  bucket  outside  the 
kitchen  door.  That  night  I^was  watching  for  them. 
About  dusk  one  came,  walking  along  sedately  with 
his  tail  at  half  mast.  The  house  dog  and  the  house 
cat  both  were  at  the  door  as  the  Skifflk  arrived. 
They  glanced  at  the  newcomer;  then  the  cat  dis- 
creetly went  indoors  and  the  dog  rumbled  in  his 
chest,  but  discreetly  he  walked  away,  very  stiffly, 
and  looked  at  the  distant  landscape,  with  his  hair 
on  his  back  still  bristling.  The  Skunk  waddled  uj 
to  the  garbage  pail,  climbed  in,  though  I  was  but 
ten  feet  away,  and  began  his  evening  meal. 

Another  came  later.  Their  tails  were  spread 
and  at  each  sharp  noise  rose  a  little  higher,  but  no 
one  offered  them  harm,  and  they  went  their  way 
when  they  were  filled. 

After  this  it  was  a  regular  thing  to  go  out  and  see 
the  Skunks  feed  when  evening  came. 

PHOTOGRAPHING  SKUNKS  AT  SHORT 'RANGE 

I  was  anxious  to  get  a  picture  or  two,  but  was  pre- 
vented by  the  poor  light;  in  fact,  it  was  but  half 
light,  and  in  those  days  we  had  no  brilliant  flash 
powders.  So  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  that 
was  trap  my  intended  sitters. 

Next  night  I  was  ready  for  them  with  an  ordinary 
101 


The  Well-meaning  Skunk 

box  trap,  and  even  before  the  appointed  time  we 
saw  a  fine  study  in  black  and  white  come  marching 
around  the  cow  stable  with  banner-tail  aloft,  and 
across  the  grass  toward  the  kitchen.  The  box  trap 
was  all  ready  and  we  —  two  women  including  my 
wife,  and  half  a  dozen  men  of  the  mountaineer  type 
—  were  watching.  The  cat  and  the  dog  moved 
sullenly  aside.  The  Skunk,  with  the  calm  confi- 
dence of  one  accustomed  to  respect,  sniffed  his  way 
to  the  box  trap  with  its  tempting  odorous  bait. 
A  Mink  or  a  Marten,  not  to  say  a  Fox,  would  have 
investigated  a  little  before  entering.  The  Skunk 
indulged  in  no  such  waste  of  time.  What  had  he 
to  fear  —  he  the  little  lord  of  all  things  with  the 
power  of  smell?  He  went  in  like  one  going  home, 
seized  the  bait,  and  down  went  the  door.  The 
uninitiated  onlookers  expected  an  explosion  from 
the  Skunk,  but  I  knew  quite  well  he  never  wasted 
a  shot,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  approach  and  make 
all  safe.  Now  I  wanted  to  move  the  box  with  its 
captive  to  my  photographic  studio,  but  could  not 
carry  it  alone,  so  I  asked  the  mountaineers  to  come 
and  help.  Had  I  asked  them  to  join  me  in  kill- 
ing a  man,  shooting  up  the  town,  or  otherwise 
taking  their  lives  in  their  hands,  I  would  doubt- 
less have  had  half  a  dozen  cheerful  volunteers; 
but  to  carry  a  box  in  which  was  a  wild  Skunk — 


102 


^ 


V 


.... 


« 


Sketches  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxni.  The  six  chapters  of  the  Bobcat's  adventure.  (a)  The 
Bobcat  appears  on  the  scene;  (b)  "Ha,"  he  says,  "A  meal  for  me."  "Be- 
ware," says  the  Skunk;  (c)  "No!  Then  take  that,"  says  the  Skunk; 
(d)  "Ow-w-ow-w";  (e)  "I  told  you  so";  (f)  "How  pleasant  is  a  peace- 
ful meal" 


Photos  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxiv.    My  tame  Skunks:  (a)  Mother  Skunk  and  her  brood;  (b) 
Ann  Seton  feeding  her  pets 


The  'Well-meaning  Skunk 

"not  for  a  hundred  dollars,"  and  the  warriors 
melted  into  the  background. 

Then  I  said  to  my  wife,  "Haven't  you  got  nerve 
enough  to  help  with  this  box?  I'll  guarantee  that 
nothing  will  happen."  So  she  came  and  we  took 
the  box  to  my  prepared  enclosure,  where  next 
day  I  photographed  him  to  my  heart's  content. 
More  than  once  as  I  worked  around  at  a  distance 
of  six  or  eight  feet,  the  Skunk's  tail  flew  up,  but 
I  kept  perfectly  still  then;  talked  softly,  apologizing 
and  explaining:  "Now  don't  shoot  at  me.  We 
are  to  be  good  friends.  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for 
anything.  Now  do  drop  that  fighting  flag,  if  you 
please,  and  be  good." 

Gradually  the  tail  went  down  and  the  captive 
looked  at  me  in  mere  curiosity  as  I  got  my  pictures. 

I  let  him  go  by  simply  removing  the  wire  netting 
of  the  fence,  whereupon  he  waddled  off  under  the 
cabin  that  I  called  "home." 

WE    SHARE    THE    SHANTY    WITH    THE   SKUNKS 

The  next  night  as  I  lay  in  my  bunk  I  heard  a 
sniffing  and  scratching  on  the  cabin  floor.  On 
looking  over  the  edge  of  the  bed  I  came  face  to 
face  with  my  friend  the  Skunk.  Our  noses  were 
but  a  foot  apart  and  just  behind  him  was  another; 
I  suppose  his  mate.  I  said:  " Hello  1  Here  you 
103 


The  Well-meaning  Skunk 


are  again.  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Who's  your 
friend?"  He  did  not  tell  me,  neither  did  he  seem 
offended.  I  suppose  it  was  his  mate.  That  was 
the  beginning  of  his  residence  under  the  floor  of 
my  cabin.  My  wife  and  I  got  very  well  acquainted 
with  him  and  his  wife  before  the  summer  was  over. 
For  though  we  had  the  cabin  by  day,  the  Skunks 
had  it  by  night.  We  always  left  them  some  scraps, 
and  regularly  at  dusk  they  came  up  to  get  them. 
They  cleaned  up  our  garbage,  so  helped  to  rid  us 
of  flies  and  mice.  We  were  careful  to  avoid  hurting 
or  scaring  our  nightly  visitors,  so  the  summer 
passed  without  offense.  We  formed  only  the 
kindest  feelings  toward  each  other,  and  we  left 
them  in  possession  of  the  cabin,  where,  so  far  as 
I  know,  they  are  living  yet,  if  you  wish  to  call. 

THE  SKUNK  AND  THE  UNWISE  BOBCAT 

As  already  noted,  I  swept  the  dust  smooth 
around  our  shanty  each  night  to  make  a  sort  of 
visitors'  book.  Then  each  morning  I  could  go 
out  and  by  study  of  the  tracks  get  an  exact  idea 
of  who  had  called.  Of  course  there  were  many 
blank  nights;  on  others  the  happenings  were 
trifling,  but  some  were  full  of  interest.  In  this 
way  I  learned  of  the  Coyote's  visits  to  the  garbage 
pail  and  of  the  Skunk  establishment  under  the 
104 


The  Well-meaning-  Skunk 

house,  and  other  interesting  facts  as  in  the  diagram. 
I  have  always  used  this  method  of  study  in  my 
mountain  trips,  and  recall  a  most  interesting  record 
that  rewarded  my  patience  some  twenty  years 
ago  when  I  lived  in  New  Mexico. 

During  the  night  I  had  been  aroused  by  a  fright- 
ful smell  of  Skunk,  followed  by  strange  muffled 
sounds  that  died  away.  So  forth  I  went  at  sun- 
rise and  found  the  odour  of  Skunk  no  dream  but 
a  stern  reality.  Then  a  consultation  of  my  dust 
album  revealed  an  inscription  which  after  a  little 
condensing  and  clearing  up  appeared  much 
as  in  Plate  XXII.  At  A  a  Skunk  had  come  on 
the  scene,  at  B  he  was  wandering  about  when  a 
hungry  Wild  Cat  or  Bobcat  Lynx  appeared,  C. 
Noting  the  promise  of  something  to  kill  for  food, 
he  came  on  at  D.  The  Skunk  observing  the 
intruder  said,  "You  better  let  me  alone."  And 
not  wishing  to  make  trouble  moved  off  toward  E. 
But  the  Bobcat,  evidently  young  and  inexpe- 
rienced, gave  chase.  At  F  the  Skunk  wheeled 
about,  remarking,  "Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  here  4  I 
goes!"  At  G  the  Lynx  was  hit.  The  tremendous 
bound  from  G  to  H  shows  the  effect.  At  J  he 
bumped  into  a  stone,  showing  probably  that  he 
was  blinded,  after  which  he  went  bouncing  and 
bounding  away.  The  Skunk  merely  said,  "I 

i°S 


f 


The  Well-meaning:  Skunk 

told  you  so!"  then  calmly  resumed  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way.  At  K  he  found  the  remains  of  a 
chicken,  on  which  he  feasted,  then  went  quietly 
home  to  bed. 

This  is  my  reading  of  the  tracks  in  the  dust. 
The  evidence  was  so  clear  that  I  have  sketched 
here  from  imagination  the  succession  of  events 
which  it  seemed  to  narrate. 

MY  PET  SKUNKS 

It  would  not  be  doing  justice  to  the  Skunk  if 
I  did  not  add  a  word  about  certain  of  the  kind  that 
I  have  at  home. 

For  many  years  I  have  kept  at  least  one  pet 
Skunk.  Just  now  I  have  about  sixty.  I  keep  them 
close  to  the  house  and  would  let  them  run  loose  in- 
doors but  for  the  possibility  of  some  fool  dog  or 
cat  coming  around,  and  provoking  the  exemplary 
little  brutes  into  a  perfectly  justifiable  endeavour 
to  defend  themselves  as  nature  taught  them. 
But  for  this  I  should  have  no  fear.  Not  only  do 
I  handle  them  myself,  but  I  have  induced  many 
of  my  wild-eyed  visitors  to  do  so  as  a  necessary 
part  of  their  education.  For  few  indeed  there  are 
in  the  land  to-day  that  realize  the  gentleness  and 
forbearance  of  this  righteous  little  brother  of 
ours,  who,  though  armed  with  a  weapon  that  will 
106 


The  Well-meaning  Skunk 

put  the  biggest  and  boldest  to  flight  or  disastrous 
defeat,  yet  refrains  from  using  it  until  in  absolute 
peril  of  his  life,  and  then  only  after  several  warn- 
ings. 

By  way  of  rounding  out  this  statement,  I  pre- 
sent a  picture  of  my  little  daughter  playing  among 
the  Skunks,  and  need  add  only  that  they  are  full- 
grown  specimens  in  full  possession  of  all  their 
faculties.  Plate  XXIV. 


107 


vn 

Old  Silver- 
grizzle — 

The  Badger 


vn 

Old  Silver-grizzle— The  Badger 

A  BRILLIANT  newspaper  man  once  gave 
vast  publicity  to  the  story  that  at  last  a 
use  had  been  found  for  the  Badger,  with 
his  mania  for  digging  holes  in  the  ground.  By 
kindness  and  care  and  the  help  of  an  attached 
little  steam-gauge  speedometer  plumb  compass, 
that  gave  accurate  aim,  improved  perpen- 
dicularity, and  increased  efficiency  to  the  efforts 
of  the  strenuous  excavator,  he  had  been  able 
to  produce  a  dirigible  Badger  that  was  cer- 
tain to  displace  all  other  machinery  for  digging 
postholes. 

Unfortunately  I  was  in  a  position  to  disprove 
this  pretty  conceit.  But  I  think  of  it  every  time  I 
put  my  foot  in  a  Badger  hole.  Such  lovely  holes, 
so  plentiful,  so  worse  than  useless  where  the  Bad- 
ger has  thoughtlessly  located  them.  If  only  we 
could  harness  and  direct  such  excavatory  ener- 
gies. 

in 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

This,  indeed,  is  the  only  quarrel  civilized  man 
can  pick  with  the  honest  Badger.  He  will  dig 
holes  that  endanger  horse's  legs  and  rider's  necks. 
He  may  destroy  Gophers,  Ground-squirrels,  Prai- 
rie-dogs, insects,  and  a  hundred  enemies  of  the 
farm;  he  may  help  the  crops  in  a  thousand  different 
ways,  but  he  will  dig  post-holes  where  they  are  not 
wanted,  and  this  indiscretion  has  made  many 
enemies  for  the  kindest  and  sturdiest  of  all  the 
.squatters  on  the  plains. 

THE  VALIANT,  HARMLESS  BADGER 

From  the  Saskatchewan  to  Mexico  he  ranges, 
and  from  Illinois  to  California,  wherever  there  are 
dry,  open  plains  supplied  with  Ground-squirrels 
and  water. 

Many  times,  in  crossing  the  rolling  plains  of 
Montana,  the  uplands  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico, 
or  the  prairies  of  Manitoba,  I  have  met  with 
Mittenusk,  as  the  redmen  call  him.  Like  a  big 
white  stone  perched  on  some  low  mound  he  seems. 
But  the  wind  makes  cracks  in  it  at  places,  and 
then  it  moves  —  giving  plain  announcement  to 
the  world  with  eyes  to  see  that  this  is  a  Badger 
sunning  himself.  He  seldom  allows  a  near  ap- 
proach, even  in  the  Yellowstone,  where  he  is 
safe,  and  is  pretty  sure  to  drop  down  out  of  sight 

112 


Old  Silver-grille 

in  his  den  long  before  one  gets  within  camera  range. 
The  Badger  is  such  a  subterranean,  nocturnal 
creature  at  most  times  that  for  long  his  home  life 
escaped  our  observation,  but  at  last  a  few  para- 
graphs, if  not  a  chapter  of  it,  have  been  secured, 
and  we  find  that  this  shy  creature,  in  ill  odour  among 
cattlemen  as  noted,  is  a  rare  and  lovely  character 
when  permitted  to  unbend  in  a  congenial  group. 
Sturdy,  strong  and  dogged,  and  brave  to  the  last 
ditch,  the  more  we  know  of  the  Badger  the  more 
we  respect  him. 

Let  us  pass  lightly  over  the  facts  that  in  makeup 
he  is  between  a  Bear  and  a  Weasel,  and  that  he 
weighs  about  twenty  pounds,  and  has  a  soft 
coat  of  silvery  gray  and  some  label  marks  of  black 
on  his  head. 

He  feeds  chiefly  on  Ground-squirrels,  which 
be  digs  out,  but  does  not  scorn  birds'  eggs,  or 
even  fruit  and  gram  at  times.  Except  for  an 
occasional  sun-bath,  he  spends  the  day  hi  his  den 
and  travels  about  mostly  by  night.  He  minds  his 
own  business,  if  let  alone,  but  woe  be  to  the  crea- 
ture of  the  plains  that  tries  to  molest  him,  for  he 
has  the  heart  of  a  bulldog,  the  claws  of  a  Grizzly, 
and  the  jaws  of  a  small  crocodile. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  meeting  with  Old 
Silver-grizzle.  It  was  on  the  plains  of  the  Souris, 

"3 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

in  1882.  I  saw  this  broad,  low,  whitish  creature 
on  the  prairie,  not  far  from  the  trail,  and,  impelled 
by  the  hunter  instinct  so  strong  in  all  boys,  I 
ran  toward  him.  He  dived  into  a  den,  but  the  one 
he  chose  proved  to  be  barely  three  feet  deep,  and  I 
succeeded  in  seizing  the  Badger's  short  thick  tail. 
Gripping  it  firmly  with  both  hands,  I  pulled  and 
pulled,  but  he  was  stronger  than  I.  He  braced 
himself  against  the  sides  of  the  den  and  defied  me. 
With  anything  like  fair  play,  he  would  have 
escaped,  but  I  had  accomplices,  and  the  details 
of  what  followed  are  not  pleasant  reminiscences. 
But  I  was  very  young  at  the  time,  and  that  was 
my  first  Badger.  I  wanted  his  skin,  and  I  had 
not  learned  to  respect  his  exemplary  life  and  daunt- 
less spirit. 

In  the  summer  of  1897  I was  staying  at  Yancey's 
in  the  Park.  Daily  I  saw  signs  of  Badgers  about, 
and  one  morning  while  prowling,  camera  in  hand, 
I  saw  old  Gray-coat  wandering  on  the  prairie, 
looking  for  fresh  Ground-squirrel  holes.  Keep- 
ing low,  I  ran  toward  him.  He  soon  sensed  me, 
and  to  my  surprise  came  rushing  toward  me,  ut- 
tering sharp  snarls.  This  one  was  behaving  dif- 
ferently from  any  Badger  I  had  seen  before,  but 
evidently  he  was  going  to  give  me  a  chance  for  a 
picture.  After  that  was  taken,  doubtless  I  could 

"4 


Old  Silver-gnzsle 

save  myself  by  running.  We  were  within  thirty 
yards  of  each  other  and  both  coming  strong,  when 
"crash"  I  went  into  a  Badger  hole  /  had  not  seen, 
just  as  he  went  "  thump"  down  tail  first  into  a  hole 
he  had  not  seen.  For  a  moment  we  both  looked 
very  foolish,  but  he  recovered  first,  and  rushing  a 
few  yards  nearer,  plunged  into  a  deep  and  wide 
den  toward  which  he  evidently  had  been  heading 
from  the  first. 

HIS    SOCIABLE    BENT 

The  strongest  peculiar  trait  of  the  Badger  is 
perhaps  his  sociability  —  sociability  being,  of 
course,  a  very  different  thing  from  gregariousness. 
Usually  there  are  two  B  adgers  in  each  den.  Nothing 
peculiar  about  that,  but  there  are  several  cases 
on  record  of  a  Badger,  presumably  a  bachelor 
or  a  widower,  sharing  his  life  with  some  totally 
different  animal.  In  some  instances  that  other 
animal  has  been  a  Coyote;  and  the  friendship 
really  had  its  foundation  in  enmity  and  intended 
robbery. 

This  is  the  probable  history  of  a  typical  case: 
The  Badger,  being  a  mighty  miner  and  very  able 
to  dig  out  the  Ground-squirrels  of  the  prairie,  was 
followed  about  by  a  Coyote,  whose  speed  and 
agility  kept  him  safe  from  the  Badger's  jaws, 

"5 


Old  Silvet-gtizzle 

while  he  hovered  close  by,  knowing  quite  well  that 
when  the  Badger  was  digging  out  the  Ground- 
squirrels  at  their  front  door,  these  rodents  were 
very  apt  to  bolt  by  the  back  door,  and  thus  give 
the  Coyote  an  excellent  chance  for  a  cheap  dinner. 

So  the  Coyote  acquired  the  habit  of  following  the 
hard-working  Badger.  At  first,  no  doubt,  the  latter 
resented  the  parasite  that  dogged  his  steps,  but 
becoming  used  to  it  "first  endured,  then  pitied, 
then  embraced",  or,  to  put  it  more  mildly,  he  got 
accustomed  to  the  Coyote's  presence,  and  being 
of  a  kindly  disposition,  forgot  his  enmity  and 
thenceforth  they  contentedly  lived  their  lives  to- 
gether. I  do  not  know  that  they  inhabited  the  same 
den.  Yet  that  would  not  be  impossible,  since 
similar  things  are  reported  of  the  British  Badger 
and  the  Fox. 

More  than  one  observer  has  seen  a  Badger  and  a 
Coyote  travelling  together,  sometimes  one  leading, 
sometimes  the  other.  Evidently  it  was  a  partner- 
ship founded  on  good-will,  however  it  may  have 
been  begun. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  KINDLY  BADGER 

But  the  most  interesting  case,  and  one  which  I 
might  hesitate  to  reproduce  but  for  the  witnesses, 
reached  me  at  Winnipeg. 

c;    '  - 


Old  Silver-grille 

In  1871  there  was  a  family  named  Service  living 
it  Bird's  Hill,  on  the  prairie  north  of  Winnipeg. 
They  had  one  child,  a  seven-year-old  boy  named 
Harry.  He  was  a  strange  child,  very  small  for  his 
age,  and  shy  without  being  cowardly.  He  had  an 
odd  habit  of  following  dogs,  chickens,  pigs,  and 
birds,  imitating  their  voices  and  actions,  with  an 
exactness  that  onlookers  sometimes  declared  to  be 
uncanny.  One  day  he  had  gone  quietly  after  a 
Prairie  Chicken  that  kept  moving  away  from  him 
without  taking  flight,  clucking  when  she  clucked, 
and  nodding  his  head  or  shaking  his  " wings"  when 
she  did.  So  he  wandered  on  and  on,  till  the  house 
was  hidden  from  view  behind  the  trees  that  fringed 
the  river,  and  the  child  was  completely  lost. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his  being  away 
for  several  hours,  but  a  heavy  thunderstorm  coming 
up  that  afternoon  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
the  boy  was  missing,  and  when  the  first  casual 
glance  did  not  discover  him  it  became  serious  and 
a  careful  search  was  begun. 

Father  and  mother,  with  the  near  neighbours, 
scoured  the  prairie  till  dark,  and  began  the  next  day 
at  dawn,  riding  in  all  directions,  calling,  and  look- 
ing for  signs.  After  a  day  or  two  the  neighbours 
gave  it  up,  believing  that  the  child  was  drowned 
and  carried  away  by  the  river.  But  the  parents 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

continued  their  search  even  long  after  all  hope 
seemed  dead.  And  there  was  no  hour  of  the  day 
when  that  stricken  mother  did  not  send  up  a  prayer 
for  heavenly  help;  nor  any  night  when  she  did  not 
kneel  with  her  husband  and  implore  the  One  who 
loved  and  blessed  the  babes  of  Jerusalem  to  guard 
her  little  one  and  bring  him  back  in  safety. 

THE  EVIL  ONE 

There  was  one  neighbour  of  the  family  who 
joined  in  the  search  that  had  nevertheless  incurred 
the  bitter  dislike  of  little  Harry  Service.  The 
feeling  was  partly  a  mere  baby  instinct,  but  point- 
edly because  of  the  man's  vicious  cruelty  to  the 
animals,  wild  or  tame,  that  came  within  his  power. 
Only  a  week  before  he  had  set  steel  traps  at  a  den 
where  he  chanced  to  find  a  pair  of  Badgers  in  resi- 
dence. The  first  night  he  captured  the  father 
Badger.  The  cruel  jaws  of  the  jag- toothed  trap  had 
seized  him  by  both  paws,  so  he  was  held  helpless. 
The  trap  was  champed  and  wet  with  blood  and 
froth  when  Grogan  came  in  the  morning.  Of  what 
use  are  courage  and  strength  when  one  cannot 
reach  the  foe?  The  Badger  craved  only  a  fair 
fight,  but  Grogan  stood  out  of  reach  and  used  a 
club  till  the  light  was  gone  from  the  brave  eyes  and 
the  fighting  snarl  was  still. 
118 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

The  trap  was  reset  in  the  sand  and  Grogan  went. 
He  carried  the  dead  Badger  to  the  Service  house  to 
show  his  prize  and  get  help  to  skin  it,  after  which 
he  set  off  for  the  town  and  bartered  the  skin 
for  what  evil  indulgence  it  might  command,  and 
thought  no  more  of  the  trap  for  three  days.  Mean- 
while the  mother  Badger,  coming  home  at  dawn, 
was  caught  by  one  foot.  Strain  as  she  might,  that 
deadly  grip  still  held  her;  all  that  night  and  all  the 
next  day  she  struggled.  She  had  little  ones  to  care 
for.  Their  hungry  cries  from  down  the  burrow 
were  driving  her  almost  mad;  but  the  trap  was 
of  strong  steel,  beyond  her  strength,  and  at  last  the 
crying  of  the  little  ones  in  the  den  grew  still.  On 
the  second  day  of  her  torture  the  mother,  in  des- 
peration, chewed  off  one  of  her  toes  and  dragged 
her  bleeding  foot  from  the  trap. 

Down  the  burrow  she  went  first,  but  it  was  too 
late;  her  babies  were  dead.  She  buried  them 
where  they  lay  and  hastened  from  that  evil  spot. 

Water  was  her  first  need,  next  food,  and  then  at 
evening  she  made  for  an  old  den  she  had  used  the 
fall  before. 

THE  BADGER  THAT  RESCUED  THE  BOY 

And  little  Harry,  meanwhile,  where  was  he? 

That  sunny  afternoon  in  June  he  had  wandered 

119 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

away  from  the  house,  and  losing  sight  of  the  famil- 
iar building  behind  the  long  fringe  of  trees  by  the 
river,  he  had  lost  his  bearings.  Then  came  the 
thunder  shower  which  made  him  seek  for  shelter. 
There  was  nothing  about  him  but  level  prairie,  and 
the  only  shelter  he  could  find  was  a  Badger  hole, 
none  too  wide  even  for  his  small  form.  Into  this  he 
had  backed  and  stayed  with  some  comfort  during 
the  thunderstorm,  which  continued  till  night. 
Then  in  the  evening  the  child  heard  a  sniffing 
sound,  and  a  great,  gray  animal  loomed  up  against 
the  sky,  sniffed  at  the  tracks  and  at  the  open  door 
of  the  den.  Next  it  put  its  head  in,  and  Harry 
saw  by  the  black  marks  on  its  face  that  it  was  a 
Badger.  He  had  seen  one  just  three  days  before. 
A  neighbour  had  brought  it  to  his  father's  house 
to  skin  it.  There  it  stood  sniffing,  and  Harry, 
gazing  with  less  fear  than  most  children,  noticed 
that  the  visitor  had  five  claws  on  one  foot  and 
four  on  the  other,  with  recent  wounds,  proof  of 
some  sad  experience  in  a  trap.  Doubtless  this 
was  the  Badger's  den,  for  she  —  it  proved  a 
mother  —  came  in,  but  Harry  had  no  mind  to 
surrender.  The  Badger  snarled  and  came  on, 
and  Harry  shrieked,  "Get  out!"  and  struck  with 
his  tiny  fists,  and  then,  to  use  his  own  words,  "I 
scratched  the  Badger's  face  and  she  scratched 


Old  Silvcf-gfi22lc 

mine."  Surely  this  Badger  was  in  a  generous 
mood,  for  she  did  him  no  serious  harm,  and  though 
the  rightful  owner  of  the  den,  she  went  away  and 
doubtless  slept  elsewhere. 

Night  came  down.  Harry  was  very  thirsty. 
Close  by  the  door  was  a  pool  of  rainwater.  He 
crawled  out,  slaked  his  thirst,  and  backed  into 
the  warm  den  as  far  as  he  could.  Then  remem- 
bering his  prayers,  he  begged  God  to  "send  mam- 
ma," and  cried  himself  to  sleep.  During  the  night 
he  was  awakened  by  the  Badger  coming  again, 
but  it  went  away  when  the  child  scolded  it.  Next 
morning  Harry  went  to  the  pool  again  and  drank. 
Now  he  was  so  hungry;  a  few  old  rose  hips  hung 
on  the  bushes  near  the  den.  He  gathered  and  ate 
these,  but  was  even  hungrier.  Then  he  saw  some- 
thing moving  out  on  the  plain.  It  might  be  the 
Badger,  so  he  backed  into  the  den,  but  he  watched 
the  moving  thing.  It  was  a  horseman  galloping. 
As  it  came  near,  Harry  saw  that  it  was  Grogan, 
the  neighbour  for  whom  he  had  such  a  dislike, 
so  he  got  down  out  of  sight.  Twice  that  morning 
men  came  riding  by,  but  having  once  yielded  to 
his  shy  impulse,  he  hid  again  each  time.  The 
Badger  came  back  at  noon.  In  her  mouth  she 
held  the  body  of  a  Prairie  Chicken,  pretty  well 
plucked  and  partly  devoured.  She  came  into 

121 


Old  Silver-grizzle 

the  den  sniffing  as  before.  Harry  shouted,  "Get 
out!  Go  away."  The  Badger  dropped  the  meat 
and  raised  her  head.  Harry  reached  and  grasped 
the  food  and  devoured  it  with  the  appetite  of  one 
starving.  There  must  have  been  another  door- 
way, for  later  the  Badger  was  behind  the  child 
in  the  den,  and  still  later  when  he  had  fallen  asleep 
she  came  and  slept  beside  him.  He  awoke  to 
find  the  warm  furry  body  filling  the  space  between 
him  and  the  wall,  and  knew  now  why  it  was  he 
had  slept  so  comfortably. 

That  evening  the  Badger  brougnt  the  egg  of  a 
Prairie  Chicken  and  set  it  down  unbroken  before 
the  child.  He  devoured  it  eagerly,  and  again 
drank  from  the  drying  mud  puddle  to  quench 
his  thirst.  During  the  night  it  rained  again,  and 
he  would  have  been  cold,  but  the  Badger  came 
and  cuddled  around  him.  Once  or  twice  it 
licked  his  face.  The  child  could  not  know,  but  the 
parents  discovered  later  that  this  was  a  mother 
Badger  which  had  lost  her  brood  and  her  heart 
was  yearning  for  something  to  love. 

Now  there  were  two  habits  that  grew  on  the 
boy.  One  was  to  shun  the  men  that  daily  passed 
by  in  their  search,  the  other  was  to  look  to  the 
Badger  for  food  and  protection,  and  live  the  Bad- 
ger's life.  She  brought  him  food  often  not  at  all 
122 


Old 

to  his  taste  —  dead  Mice  or  Ground-squirrels  — 
but  several  times  she  brought  in  the  comb  of  a 
bee's  nest  or  eggs  of  game  birds,  and  once  a  piece 
of  bread  almost  certainly  dropped  on  the  trail 
from  some  traveller's  lunch  bag.  His  chief  trouble 
was  water.  The  prairie  pool  was  down  to  mere 
ooze  and  with  this  he  moistened  his  lips  and  tongue. 
Possibly  the  mother  Badger  wondered  why  he  did 
not  accept  her  motherly  offerings.  But  rain  came 
often  enough  to  keep  him  from  serious  suffering. 

Their  daily  life  was  together  now,  and  with  the 
imitative  power  strong  in  all  children  and  domi- 
nant in  him,  he  copied  the  Badger's  growls,  snarls, 
and  purrs.  Sometimes  they  played  tag  on  the 
prairie,  but  both  were  ready  to  rush  below  at  the 
slightest  sign  of  a  stranger. 

Two  weeks  went  by.  Galloping  men  no  longer 
passed  each  day.  Harry  and  the  Badger  had  fitted 
their  lives  into  each  other's,  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  the  memory  of  his  home  was  already  blurred 
and  weakened  in  the  boy.  Once  or  twice  during 
the  second  week  men  had  pased  near  by,  but  the 
habit  of  eluding  them  was  now  in  full  possession  of 
him. 

FINDING    THE    LOST    ONE 

One  morning  he  wandered  a  little  farther  in 
search  of  water  and  was  alarmed  by  a  horseman 

123 


Old  Silver-grille 

appearing.  He  made  for  home  on  all  fours  —  he 
ran  much  on  all  fours  now  —  and  backed  into  the 
den.  In  the  prairie  grass  he  was  concealed,  but 
the  den  was  on  a  bare  mound,  and  the  horseman 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  whitish  thing  disappearing 
down  the  hole.  Badgers  were  familiar  to  him, 
but  the  peculiar  yellow  of  this  and  the  absence 
of  black  marks  gave  it  a  strange  appearance.  He 
rode  up  quietly  within  twenty  yards  and  waited. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  gray-yellow  ball  slowly 
reappeared  and  resolved  itself  into  the  head  of  a 
tow-topped  child.  The  young  man  leaped  to  the 
ground  and  rushed  forward,  but  the  child  retreated 
far  back  into  the  den,  beyond  reach  of  the  man, 
and  refused  to  come  out.  Nevertheless,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  this  was  the  missing  Harry 
Service.  "Harry!  Harry!  don't  you  know  me? 
I'm  your  Cousin  Jack,"  the  young  man  said  in 
soothing,  coaxing  tones.  "Harry,  won't  you  come 
out  and  let  me  take  you  back  to  mamma?  Come 
Harry!  Look!  here  are  some  cookies!"  but  all  in 
vain.  The  child  hissed  and  snarled  at  him  like  a 
wild  thing,  and  retreated  as  far  as  he  could  till 
checked  by  a  turn  in  the  burrow. 

Now  Jack  got  out  his  knife  and  began  to  dig 
until  the  burrow  was  large  enough  for  him  to 
crawl  In  a  little  way.  At  once  he  succeeded  in 
124 


Old  Silver-grille 

getting  hold  of  the  little  one's  arm  and  drew  him 
out  struggling  and  crying.  But  now  there  rushed 
also  from  the  hole  a  Badger,  snarling  and  angry; 
it  charged  at  the  man,  uttering  its  fighting  snort. 
He  fought  it  off  with  his  whip,  then  swung  to  the 
saddle  with  his  precious  burden  and  rode  away  as 
for  his  very  life,  while  the  Badger  pursued  for  a 
time,  but  it  was  easily  left  behind,  and  its  snorts 
were  lost  and  forgotten. 

HOME    AGAIN 

The  father  was  coming  in  from  another  direction 
as  he  saw  this  strange  sight:  a  horse  galloping 
madly  over  the  prairie,  on  its  back  a  young  man 
shouting  loudly,  and  in  his  arms  a  small  dirty 
child,  alternately  snarling  at  his  captor,  trying  to 
scratch  his  face,  or  struggling  to  be  free. 

The  father  was  used  to  changing  intensity  of 
feeling  at  these  times,  but  he  turned  pale  and 
held  his  breath  till  the  words  reached  him:  "I 
have  got  him,  thank  God!  He's  all  right,"  and 
he  rushed  forward  shouting,  "My  boy!  my 
boy!" 

But  he  got  a  rude  rebuff.  The  child  glared  like 
a  hunted  cat,  hissed  at  him,  and  menaced  with 
hands  held  claw  fashion.  Fear  and  hate  were  all 
.he  seemed  to  express.  The  door  of  the  house  was 

"5 


Old  Silver-gfizzle 

flung  open  and  the  distracted  mother,  now  suddenly 
overjoyed,  rushed  to  join  the  group.  l '  My  darling ! 
my  darling!"  she  sobbed,  but  little  Harry  was 
not  as  when  he  left  them.  He  hung  back,  he 
hid  his  face  in  the  coat  of  his  captor,  he  scratched 
and  snarled  like  a  beast,  he  displayed  his  claws 
and  threatened  fight,  till  strong  arms  gathered 
him  up  and  placed  him  on  his  mother's  knees  in 
the  old,  familiar  room  with  the  pictures,  and  the 
clock  ticking  as  of  old,  and  the  smell  of  frying 
bacon,  his  sister's  voice,  and  his  father's  form, 
and,  above  all,  his  mother's  arms  about  him,  her 
magic  touch  on  his  brow,  and  her  voice,  "My 
darling!  my  darling!  Oh!  Harry,  don't  you 
know  your  mother?  My  boy!  my  boy!"  And 
the  struggling  little  wild  thing  in  her  arms  (grew 
quiet,  his  animal  anger  died  away,  his  raucous 
hissing  gave  place  to  a  short  panting,  and  that  to  a 
low  sobbing  that  ended  in  a  flood  of  tears  and  a 
passionate  "Mamma,  mamma,  mamma!"  as  the 
veil  of  a  different  life  was  rolled  away,  and  he  clung 
to  his  mother's  bosom. 

But  even  as  she  cooed  to  him,  and  stroked  his 
brow  and  won  him  back  again,  there  was  a  strange 
sound,  a  snarling  hiss  at  the  open  door.  All  turned 
to  see  a  great  Badger  standing  there  with  its 
front  feet  on  the  threshold.  Father  and  cousin 
126 


,  Old 

exclaimed,  "Look  at  that  Badger!"  and  reached 
for  the  ready  gun,  but  the  boy  screamed  again. 
He  wriggled  from  his  mother's  arms  and  rushing 
to  the  door,  cried,  "My  Badgie!  my  Badgie!"  He 
flung  his  arms  about  the  savage  thing's  neck,  and 
it  answered  with  a  low  purring  sound  as  it  licked 
its  lost  companion's  face.  The  men  were  for  kill- 
ing the  Badger,  but  it  was  the  mother's  keener 
insight  that  saved  it,  as  one  might  save  a  noble 
dog  that  had  rescued  a  child  from  the  water. 

It  was  some  days  before  the  child  would  let  the 
father  come  near.  "I  hate  that  man;  he  passed 
me  every  day  and  would  not  look  at  me,"  was  the 
only  explanation.  Doubtless  the  first  part  was 
true,  for  the  Badger  den  was  but  two  miles  from 
the  house  and  the  father  rode  past  many  times  in 
his  radiating  search,  but  the  tow-topped  head  had 
escaped  his  eye. 

It  was  long  and  only  by  slow  degrees  that  the 
mother  got  the  story  that  is  written  here,  and 
parts  of  it  were  far  from  clear.  It  might  all  have 
been  dismissed  as  a  dream  or  a  delirium  but  for  the 
fact  that  the  boy  had  been  absent  two  weeks;  he 
was  well  and  strong  now,  excepting  that  his  lips 
were  blackened  and  cracked  with  the  muddy  water, 
the  Badger  had  followed  him  home,  and  was  now 
his  constant  friend. 

127 


Old  Silver-grille 

It  was  strange  to  see  how  the  child  oscillated 
between  the  two  lives,  sometimes  talking  to  his 
people  exactly  as  he  used  to  talk,  and  sometimes 
running  on  all  fours,  growling,  hissing,  and  tussling 
with  the  Badger.  Many  a  game  of  "King  of  the 
Castle"  they  had  together  on  the  low  pile  of  sand 
left  after  the  digging  of  a  new  well.  Each  would 
climb  to  the  top  and  defy  the  other  to  pull  him 
down,  till  a  hold  was  secured  and  they  rolled  together 
to  the  level,  clutching  and  tugging,  Harry  gig- 
gling, the  Badger  uttering  a  peculiar  high-pitched 
sound  that  might  have  been  called  snarling  had  it 
not  been  an  expression  of  good  nature.  Surely  it 
was  a  Badger  laugh.  There  was  little  that  Harry 
could  ask  without  receiving,  in  those  days,  but 
his  mother  was  shocked  when  he  persisted  that  the 
Badger  must  sleep  in  his  bed;  yet  she  so  arranged  it. 
The  mother  would  go  in  the  late  hours  and  look  on 
them  with  a  little  pang  of  jealousy  as  she  saw  her 
baby  curled  up,  sleeping  soundly  with  that  strange 
beast. 

It  was  Harry's  turn  to  feed  his  friend  now, 
and  side  by  side  they  sat  to  eat.  The  Bad- 
ger had  become  an  established  member  of  the 
family.  But  after  a  month  had  gone  by  an 
incident  took  place  that  I  would  gladly  leave 
untold. 

128 


Old  Sil 

THE  HUMAN  BRUTE 

Grogan,  the  unpleasant  neighbour,  who  had  first 
frightened  Harry  into  the  den,  came  riding  up  to 
the  Service  homestead.  Harry  was  in  the  house 
for  the  moment.  The  Badger  was  on  the  sand 
pile.  Instantly  on  catching  sight  of  it,  Grogan 
unslung  his  gun  and  exclaimed,  "A  Badger!"  To 
him  a  Badger  was  merely  something  to  be  killed. 
"Bang!"  and  the  kindly  animal  rolled  over,  stung 
and  bleeding,  but  recovered  and  dragged  herself 
toward  the  house.  "Bang!"  and  the  murderer 
fired  again,  just  as  the  inmates  rushed  to  the  door 
—  too  late.  Harry  ran  toward  the  Badger  shout- 
ing, ' 'Badgie !  my  Badgie !' '  He  flung  his  baby  arms 
around  the  bleeding  neck.  It  fawned  on  him 
feebly,  purring  a  low,  hissing  purr,  then  mixing 
the  purrs  with  moans,  grew  silent,  and  slowly  sank 
down,  and  died  in  his  arms.  "My  Badgie!  my 
Badgie!"  the  boy  wailed,  and  all  the  ferocity  of  his 
animal  nature  was  directed  against  Grogan. 

"You  better  get  out  of  this  before  I  kill  you!" 
thundered  the  father,  and  the  hulking  halfbreed 
sullenly  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away. 

A  great  part  of  his  life  had  been  cut  away  and  it 

seemed  as  though  a  deathblow  had  been  dealt  the 

boy.    The  shock  was  more  than  he  could  stand. 

He  moaned  and  wept  all  day,  he  screamed  himself 

129 


Old  Silver-grille 

into  convulsions,  he  was  worn  out  at  sundown  and 
slept  little  that  night.  Next  morning  he  was  in  a 
raging  fever  and  ever  he  called  for  "My  Badgie!" 
He  seemed  at  death's  door  the  next  day,  but  a  week 
later  he  began  to  mend  and  in  three  weeks  was 
strong  as  ever  and  childishly  gay,  with  occasional 
spells  of  sad  remembering  that  gradually  ceased. 

He  grew  up  to  early  manhood  in  aland  of  hunters, 
but  he  took  no  pleasure  in  the  killing  that  was  such 
sport  to  his  neighbour's  sons,  and  to  his  dying  day 
he  could  not  look  on  the  skin  of  a  Badger  without 
feelings  of  love,  tenderness,  and  regret.  . 

This  is  the  story  of  the  Badger  as  it  was  told  me, 
and  those  who  wish  to  inquire  further  can  do  so  at 
Winnipeg,  if  they  seek  out  Archbishop  Matheson, 
Dr.  R.  M.  Simpson,  or  Mrs.  George  A.  Frazer  of 
Kildonan.  These  witnesses  may  differ  as  to  the 
details,  but  all  have  assured  me  that  in  its  main 
outlines  this  tale  is  true,  and  I  gladly  tell  it,  for  I 
want  you  to  realize  the  kindly  disposition  that  is  in 
that  sturdy,  harmless,  noble  wild  animal  that  sits 
on  the  low  prairie  mounds,  for  then  I  know  that  you 
will  join  with  me  in  loving  him,  and  in  seeking  to ; 
save  his  race  from  extermination. 


vm 

The   Squirrel  and 
His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 


vm 

The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail 
Brothers 

YOU  remember  that    Hiawatha    christened 
the   Squirrel  "Adjidaumo"  —  "Tail-in-air" 
and   this  Tail-in-air  was   chattering  over- 
head as  I  sat,  some  twenty-five  years  ago,  on  the 
shore  of  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  with  an  Ojibwa 
Indian,  checking  up  the  animals'  names  in  the 
native  tongue.    Of  course  the  Red-squirrel  was 
early  in  our  notice. 

"Ad-je-dflfy-mo"  I  called  it,  but  the  Indian  cor- 
rected me;  "Ah-chit-aw-wo"  he  made  it;  and  when 
I  translated  it  "Tail-in-air"  he  said  gravely,  "No, 
it  means  head  downward. "  Then  noting  my  sur- 
prise, he  added,  with  characteristic  courtesy,  "Yes, 
yes,  you  are  right;  if  his  head  is  down,  his  tail  must 
be  up. "  Thoreau  talks  of  the  Red-squirrel  nicking 
his  tail  like  a  whip-lash,  and  the  word  "Squirrel," 
from  the  Latin  "Sciurus"  and  Greek  "Skia-oura" 
means  "shady  tail."  Thus  all  of  its  names  seem 

133 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

to  note  the  wonderful  banner  that  serves  the 
animal  in  turn  as  sun-shade,  signal-flag,  coverlet, 
and  parachute. 

THE  CHEEKY  PINE  SQUIRREL 

A  wonderfully  extensive  kingdom  has  fallen  to 
Adjidaumo  of  the  shady  tail;  all  of  Canada  and 
most  of  the  Rockies  are  his.  He  is  at  home  wher- 
ever there  are  pine  forests  and  a  cool  climate;  and 
he  covers  so  many  ranges  of  diverse  conditions  that, 
responding  to  the  new  environments  in  lesser 
matters  of  makeup,  we  have  a  score  of  different 
Squirrel  races  from  this  parent  stock.  In  size,  in  tail, 
in  kind  or  depth  of  coat  they  differ  to  the  expert 
eye,  but  so  far  as  I  can  see  they  are  exactly  alike  in 
all  their  ways,  their  calls  and  their  dispositions. 

The  Pine  Squirrel  is  the  form  found  in  the 
Rockies  about  the  Yellowstone  Park.  It  is  a 
little  darker  in  colour  than  the  Red-squirrel  of  the 
East,  but  I  find  no  other  difference.  It  has 
the  same  aggressive,  scolding  propensities,  the 
same  love  of  the  pinyons  and  their  product,  the 
same  friends  and  the  same  foes,  with  one  possible 
partial  exception  in  the  list  of  habits,  and  that  is  in 
its  method  of  storing  up  mushrooms. 

The  pinyons,  or  nuts  of  the  pinyon  pine,  are 
perhaps  the  most  delicious  nuts  in  all  the  lap  of 

134 


Sketched  from  life  in  the  Selkirk  Mountains,  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxv.    Red-squirrel  storing  mushrooms  for  winter  use 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

bountiful  dame  Nature,  from  fir  belt  in  the  north 
to  equatorial  heat  and  on  to  far  Fuego.  All  wild 
creatures  revel  in  the  pinyons.  To  the  Squirrels 
they  are  more  than  the  staff  of  life;  they  are  meat 
and  potatoes,  bread  and  honey,  pork  and  beans, 
bread  and  cake,  sugar  and  chocolate,  the  sum  of 
comfort,  and  the  promise  of  continuing  joy.  But 
the  pinyon  does  not  bear  every  year;  there  are  off 
years,  as  with  other  trees,  and  the  Squirrels  might 
be  in  a  bad  way  if  they  had  no  other  supply  of 
food  to  lay  up  for  the  winter. 

A  season  I  spent  in  the  Southern  Rockies  was  an 
off  year  for  pinyons,  and  when  September  came  I 
was  shown  what  the  Squirrels  do  in  such  an  emer- 
gency. All  through  autumn  the  slopes  of  the  hills 
were  dotted  with  the  umbrellas  of  countless  toad- 
stools or  mushrooms,  representing  many  fat  and 
wholesome  species.    It  is  well  known  that  while  a 
few  of  them  are  poisonous,  a  great  many  are  good 
food.    Scientists  can  find  out  which  is  which  only 
by  slow  experiment.    "Eat  them;  if  you  live 
are  good,  if  you  die  they  are  poisonous"  has  been 
suggested  as  a  certain  method.   The  Squirrels  must     _„  .        »T. 
have  worked  this  out  long  ago,  for  they  surely    *  £    *  y^/  .7^ 
know  the  good  ones;  and  all  through  late  summer        ^*"jfr*^ 
they  are  at  work  gathering  them  for  winter  use  in 
place  of  the  pine-nuts. 

135 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

Now  if  the  provident  Squirrel  stored  these  up  as 
he  does  the  pinyons,  in  holes  or  underground,  they 
would  surely  go  to  mush  in  a  short  time  and  be  lost. 
He  makes  no  such  mistake.  He  stores  them  in  the 
forked  branches  of  trees,  where  they  dry  out  and 
remain  good  until  needed;  and  wisely  puts  them 
high  enough  up  to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  Deer  and 
low  enough  to  avoid  being  dislodged  by  the 
wind. 

As  you  ramble  through  the  Squirrel-frequented 
woods,  you  will  often  come  across  a  log  or  stump 
which  is  littered  over  with  the  scales  fresh  cut 
from  a  pine  cone;  sometimes  there  is  a  pile  of  a 
bushel  or  more  by  the  place;  you  have  stumbled 
on  a  Squirrel's  workshop.  Here  is  where  he  does 
his  husking,  and  the  "clear  corn"  produced  is 
stored  away  in  some  underground  granary  till  it  is 
needed. 

The  Pine  Squirrel  loves  to  nest  in  a  hollow  tree, 
but  also  builds  an  outside  nest  which  at  a  distance 
looks  like  a  mass  of  rubbish.  This,  on  investiga- 
tion, turns  out  to  be  a  convenient  warm  chamber 
some  six  inches  wide  and  two  or  three  high.  It  is 
covered  with  a  waterproof  roof  of  bark  thatch,  and 
entered  by  a  door  artfully  concealed  with  layers 
and  fringes  of  bark  that  hide  it  alike  from  blood- 
thirsty foes  and  piercing  whiter  blasts. 

136 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 
CHIPMUNKS  AND  GROUND-SQUIRRELS 

The  Red-squirrel  is  safe  and  happy  only  when 
in  the  tall  trees,  but  his  kinsmen  have  sought  out 
any  and  every  different  environment.  One  enor- 
mous group  of  his  great  grandfather's  second 
cousins  have  abandoned  tree  life  altogether. 
They  have  settled  down  like  the  Dakota  farmers, 
to  be  happy  on  the  prairie,  where,  never  having 
need  to  get  over  anything  higher  than  their  own 
front  doorstep,  they  have  lost  the  last  vestige  of 
power  to  climb.  These  are  the  Ground-squirrels,  that 
in  a  variety  of  forms  are  a  pest  in  gardens  and  on 
farms  in  most  of  the  country  west  of  the  Mississippi. 

Standing  between  these  and  the  true  Squirrels 
are  the  elegant  Chipmunks,  the  prettiest  and  most 
popular  of  all  the  family.  They  frequent  the  bor- 
derland between  woods  and  prairie;  they  climb, 
if  anything  is  to  be  gained  by  it,  but  they  know, 
like  the  Ground-squirrels,  that  Mother  Earth  is  a 
safer  retreat  in  time  of  danger  than  the  tallest 
tree  that  ever  grew. 

THE  GROUND-SQUIRREL  THAT  PLAYS  PICKET-PIN 

Conspicuous  in  its  teeming  numbers  in  the 
Yellowstone  Park  is  the  Picket-Pin  Ground-squir- 
rel. On  every  level,  dry  prairie  along  the  great 
river  I  found  it  in  swarms. 

137 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 


It  looks  much  like  a  common  Squirrel,  but  its 
coat  has  become  more  mud-coloured,  and  its  tail 
is  reduced  by  long  ages  of  neglect  to  a  mere  vestige 
of  the  ancestral  banner.  It  has  developed  great 
powers  of  burrowing,  but  it  never  climbs  anything 
higher  than  the  little  mound  that  it  makes  about 
the  door  of  its  home. 

The  Picket-pin  is  an  interesting  and  picturesque 
creature  in  some  ways,  but  it  has  one  habit  that 
I  cannot  quite  condone.  In  this  land  of  sun  and 
bright  blue  air,  this  world  of  outdoor  charm,  it 
comes  forth  tardily  in  late  spring,,as  late  sometimes 
as  the  first  of  May,  and  promptly  retires  in  mid- 
August,  when  blazing  summer  is  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  the  land  is  a  land  of  plenty.  Down 
it  goes  after  three  and  one  half  short  months,  to 
sleep  for  eight  and  a  half  long  ones;  and  since  dur- 
ing these  three  and  a  half  months  it  is  above  ground 
only  in  broad  daylight,  this  means  that  for  only  two 
months  of  the  year  it  is  active,  and  the  other  ten, 
four  fifths  of  its  life,  it  passes  in  a  deathlike  sleep. 

Of  course,  the  Picket-pin  might  reply  that  it 
has  probably  as  many  hours  of  active  life  as  any 
of  its  kind,  only  it  breaks  them  up  into  sections, 
with  long  blanks  of  rest  between.  Whether  this 
defense  is  a  good  one  or  not,  we  have  no  facts  at 
present  to  determine. 

138 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

It  has  a  fashion  of  sitting  up  straight  on  the 
doorway  mound  when  it  wishes  to  take  an  obser- 
vation, and  the  more  it  is  alarmed  by  the  approach 
of  an  enemy  the  straighter  it  sits  up,  pressing  its 
paws  tight  to  its  ribs,  so  that  at  a  short  distance 
it  looks  like  a  picket-pin  of  wood;  hence  the  name. 

Oftentimes  some  tenderfoot  going  in  the  evening 
to  stake  out  his  horse  and  making  toward  the 
selected  patch  of  grassy  prairie,  exclaims,  "Good 
Luck!  here's  a  picket-pin  already  driven  in."  But 
on  leading  up  his  horse  within  ten  or  twelve 
feet  of  the  pin,  it  gives  a  little  "chirr"  and  dives 
down  out  of  sight.  Then  the  said  tenderfoot 
realizes  why  the  creature  got  the  name. 

The  summer  of  1897  I  spent  in  the  Park  about 
Yancey's  and  there  had  daily  chances  of  seeing 
the  Picket-pin  and  learning  its  ways,  for  the 
species  was  there  in  thousands  on  the  little  prairie 
about  my  cabin.  I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying 
that  there  were  ten  families  to  the  acre  of.  land 
on  all  the  level  prairie  in  this  valley. 

CHINK  AND  THE  PICKET-PINS 

As  already  noted  in  the  Coyote  chapter,  we  had 
in  camp  that  summer  the  little  dog  called  Chink. 
He  was  just  old  enough  to  think  himself  a  remark- 
able dog  with  a  future  before  him.  There  was 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

hardly  anything  that  Chink  would  not  attempt, 
except  perhaps  keeping  still.  He  was  always  try- 
ing to  do  some  absurd  and  impossible  thing,  or, 
if  he  did  attempt  the  possible,  he  usually  spoiled 
his  best  efforts  by  his  way  of  going  about  it.  He 
once  spent  a  whole  morning  trying  to  run  up  a  tall, 
straight,  pine  tree  in  whose  branches  was  a  snicker- 
ing Pine  Squirrel. 

The  darling  ambition  of  his  life  for  some  weeks 
was  to  catch  one  of  the  Picket-pin  Ground-squirrels 
that  swarmed  on  the  prairie  about  the  camp. 

Chink  had  determined  to  catch  one  of  these 
Ground-squirrels  the  very  first  day  he  came  into 
the  valley.  Of  course,  he  went  about  it  in  his 
own  original  way,  doing  everything  wrong  end 
first,  as  usual.  This,  his  master  said,  was  due 
to  a  streak  of  Irish  in  his  makeup.  So  Chink  would 
begin  a  most  elaborate  stalk  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  Ground-squirrel.  After  crawling  on  his 
breast  from  tussock  to  tussock  for  a  hundred  yards 
or  so,  the  nervous  strain  would  become  too  great, 
and  Chink,  getting  too  much  excited  to  crawl, 
would  rise  on  his  feet  and  walk  straight  toward 
the  Squirrel,  which  would  now  be  sitting  up  by 
its  hole,  fully  alive  to  the  situation. 

After  a  minute  or  two  of  this  very  open  approach, 
Chink's  excitement  would  overpower  all  caution. 
140 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

He  would  begin  running,  and  at  the  last,  just  as  he 
should  have  done  his  finest  stalking,  he  would  go 
bounding  and  barking  toward  the  Ground-squirrel, 
which  would  sit  like  a  peg  of  wood  till  the  proper 
moment,  then  dive  below  with  a  derisive  chirrup, 
throwing  with  its  hind  feet  a  lot  of  sand  right  into 
Chink's  eager,  open  mouth. 

Day  after  day  this  went  on  with  level  sameness, 
and  still  Chink  did  not  give  up,  although  I  feel 
sure  he  had  bushels  of  sand  thrown  in  his  mouth 
that  summer  by  the  impudent  Picket-pins. 

Perseverance,  he  seemed  to  believe,  must  surely 
win  in  the  end,  as  indeed  it  did.  For,  one  day,  he 
made  an  unusually  elaborate  stalk  after  an  un- 
usually fine  big  Picket-pin,  carried  out  all  his 
absurd  tactics,  finishing  with  the  grand,  boisterous 
charge,  and  actually  caught  his  victim; but  this  time 
it  happened  to  be  a  wooden  picket-phi.  Any  one 
who  doubts  that  a  dog  knows  when  he  has  made 
a  fool  of  himself  should  have  seen  Chink  that 
day  as  he  sheepishly  sneaked  out  of  sight  be- 
hind the  tent. 

CHIPMUNKS 

Every  one  recognizes  as  a  Chipmunk  the  lively 
little  creature  that,  with  striped  coat  and  with  tail 
aloft,  dashes  across  all  the  roads  and  chirrups  on 

141 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

all  the  log  piles  that  line  the  roads  throughout 
the  timbered  portions  of  the  Park.  I  am  sure 
I  have  often  seen  a  thousand  of  them  in  a  mile  of 
road  between  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  and 
Norris  Geyser  Basin.  The  traveller  who  makes 
the  entire  round  of  the  Park  may  see  a  hundred 
thousand  if  he  keeps  his  eyes  open.  While  every 
one  knows  them  at  once  for  Chipmunks,  it  takes  a 
second  and  more  careful  glance  to  show  they  are 
of  three  totally  distinct  kinds. 

THE    GROUND-SQUIRREL    THAT    PRETENDS     IT'S     A 

CHIPMUNK: 

First,  largest,  and  least  common,  is  the  Big 
Striped  Ground-squirrel,  the  Golden  Ground- 
squirrel  or  Say's  Ground-squirrel,  called  scientifi- 
cally Citellus  lateralis  cinerascens.  This,  in  spite 
of  its  livery,  is  not  a  Chipmunk  at  all  but  a  Ground- 
squirrel  that  is  trying  hard  to  be  a  Chipmunk. 
And  it  makes  a  good  showing  so  far  as  manners,  coat 
and  stripes  are  concerned,  but  the  incontrovertible 
evidence  of  its  inner  life,  as  indicated  by  skull  and 
makeup,  tells  us  plainly  that  it  is  merely  a  Ground- 
squirrel,  a  first  cousin  to  the  ignoble  Picket-pin. 

I  found  it  especially  common  in  the  higher  parts 
of  the  Park.  It  is  really  a  mountain  species,  at 
home  chiefly  among  the  rocks,  yet  is  very  ready 
142 


The  Squirrel  and  Kb  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

to  take  up  its  abode  under  buildings.  At  the  Lake 
Hotel  I  saw  a  number  of  them  that  lived  around 
the  back  door,  and  were  almost  tamed  through 
the  long  protection  there  given  them.  Like 
most  of  these  small  rodents,  they  are  supposed  to 
be  grain-eaters  but  they  really  are  omnivorous, 
and  quite  ready  to  eat  flesh  and  eggs,  as  well  as 
seeds  and  fruit.  Warren  in  his  "Mammals  of 
Colorado,"  tells  of  having  seen  one  of  these  Ground- 
squirrels  kill  some  young  Bluebirds;  and  adds 
another  instance  of  flesh-eating  observed  in  the 
Yellowstone  Park,  where  he  and  two  friends, 
riding  along  one  of  the  roads,  saw  a  Say  Ground- 
squirrel  demurely  squatting  on  a  log,  holding  in 
its  arms  a  tiny  young  Meadow  Mouse,  from  which 
it  picked  the  flesh  as  one  might  pick  corn  from  a  cob. 
Meadow  Mice  ai  e  generally  considered  a  nuisance, 
and  the  one  devoured  probably  was  of  a  cantank- 
erous disposition;  but  just  the  same  it  gives  one 
an  unpleasant  sensation  to  think  of  this  elegant  lit- 
tle creature,  hi  appearance,  innocence  personified, 
wearing  all  the  insignia  of  a  grain-eater,  yet  ruth- 
lessly indulging  in  such  a  bloody  and  cannibal  feast. 

A  FOUR-LEGGED  BIRD — THE  NORTHERN    CHIPMUNK 

The  early  naturalists  who  first  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  Eastern  Ground-squirrel  named 

.43 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

ft  Tamias  or  "The  Steward."  Later  the  Northern 
Chipmunk  was  discovered  and  it  was  found  to  be 
more  of  a  Chipmunk  than  its  Eastern  cousin.  The 
new  one  had  all  the  specialties  of  the  old  kind, 
but  in  a  higher  degree.  So  they  named  this  one 
Eutamias,  which  means  "good"  or  "extra  good" 
Chipmunk.  And  extra  good  this  exquisite  little 
creature  surely  is  in  all  that  goes  to  make  a  charm- 
ing, graceful,  birdy,  pert  and  vivacious  four-foot. 
In  everything  but  colours  it  is  Eutamias  or  Tamias 
of  a  more  intensified  type.  Its  tail  is  long  in  pro- 
portion and  carried  differently,  being  commonly 
held  straight  up,  so  that  the  general  impression 
one  gets  is  of  a  huge  tail  with  a  tiny  striped  animal 
attached  to  its  lower  end. 

Its  excessive  numbers  along  the  roads  in  the 
Park  are  due  to  two  things:  First,  the  food,  for 
oats  are  continually  spilled  from  the  freighting 
wagons.  Second,  the  protection  of  piles  of  pine 
trees  cut  and  cast  aside  in  clearing  the  roadway. 

There  is  one  habit  of  the  Eastern  Chipmunk 
that  I  have  not  noted  in  the  mountain  species, 
and  that  is  the  habit  of  song.  In  the  early  spring 
and  late  autumn  when  the  days  are  bright  and 
invigorating,  the  Eastern  Chipmunk  will  mount 
some  log,  stump  or  other  perch  and  express  his 
exuberant  joy  in  a  song  which  is  a  rapid  repetition 

144 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

of  a  bird-like  note  suggested  by  "  Chuck,"  "  Chuck," 
or  "Chock,"  "Chock."  This  is  kept  up  two  or 
three  minutes  without  interruption,  and  is  one  of 
those  delightful  woodland  songs  whose  charm  comes 
rather  from  association  than  from  its  inherent 
music. 

If  our  Western  Chipmunk  is  as  far  ahead  in 
matters  musical  as  he  is  in  form  and  other  habits,  I 
shall  expect  him  to  render  no  less  than  the  song  of 
a  nightingale  when  he  gives  himself  up  to  express 
his  wild  exuberance  in  a  chant. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  days  I  spent  with  a  natural- 
ist friend  in  an  old  mill  building  in  western  Mani- 
toba. It  was  in  a  pine  woods  which  was  peopled 
with  these  little  Chipmunks.  They  had  hailed  the 
mill  and  its  wood  piles,  and  especially  the  stables, 
with  their  squandered  oats,  as  the  very  gifts  of  a 
beneficient  Providence  for  their  use  and  benefit. 
They  had  concentrated  on  the  mill;  they  were  there 
in  hundreds,  almost  thousands,  and  whenever  one 
looked  across  the  yard  in  sunny  hours  one  could 
see  a  dozen  or  more  together. 

The  old  mill  was  infested  with  them  as  an  old 
brewery  with  rats.  But  hi  many  respects  besides 
beauty  they  were  an  improvement  on  rats:  they 
did  not  smell,  they  were  not  vicious,  and  they  did 
not  move  by  night.  I 

•« 


The  Squirrel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

During  the  daytime  they  were  everywhere  and 
into  everything.  Our  slender  stock  of  provisions 
was  badly  reduced  when,  by  mischance,  the  tin 
box  was  left  open  a  few  hours,  but  we  loved  to  see 
so  much  beautiful  life  about  and  so  forgave  them. 
One  of  our  regular  pleasures  was  to  sit  back  after  a 
meal  and  watch  these  pert-eyed,  four-legged  birds 
scramble  onto  the  table,  eat  the  scraps  and  lick  all 
the  plates  and  platters  clean. 

Like  all  the  Chipmunks  and  Ground-squirrels, 
this  animal  has  well-developed  cheek-pouches  which 
it  uses  for  carrying  home  seeds  and  roots  which 
serve  for  food  in  the  winter.  Or  perhaps  we  should 
say  in  the  early  spring,  for  the  Chipmunk,  like  the 
Ground-squirrel,  goes  into  the  ground  for  a  long 
repose  as  soon  as  winter  comes  down  hard  and 
white. 

Yet  it  does  not  go  so  early  or  stay  so  late  as  its 
big  cousin.  October  still  sees  it  active,  even 
running  about  in  the  snow.  As  late  as  October  3 1  st 
at  Breckenridge,  Col.,  I  saw  one  sitting  up  on  a  log 
and  eating  some  grass  or  seeds  during  a  driving 
snowstorm.  High  up  in  the  Shoshonees,  after  winter 
had  settled  down,  on  October  8,  1898,  I  saw  one 
of  these  bright  creatures  bounding  through  the 
snow.  On  a  stone  he  paused  to  watch  me  and  I 
made  a  hasty  sketch  of  his  attitude. 
146 


The  Squtttel  and  His  Jerky-tail  Brothers 

Then,  again,  it  is  out  in  the  spring,  early  in  April, 
so  that  it  is  above  ground  for  at  least  seven  months 
of  the  year.  Its  nest  is  in  a  chamber  at  the  end  of  a 
long  tunnel  that  it  digs  under  ground,  usually  among 
roots  that  make  hard  digging  for  the  creatures  that 
would  rout  them  out.  Very  little  is  known  as  yet, 
however,  about  the  growth  or  development  of  the 
young,  so  here  is  an  opportunity  for  the  young 
naturalist  who  would  contribute  something  to  our 
knowledge  of  this  intere  sting  creature. 

A  STRIPED  PIGMY  —  THE  LEAST  CHIPMUNK 

Closely  akin  to  this  one  and  commonly  mistaken 
for  its  young,  is  the  Least  Chipmunk  (Eutamias 
minimus),  which  is  widely  diffused  in  the  great  dry 
central  region  of  the  Continent.  Although  so 
generally  found  and  so  visible  when  found,  its 
history  is  practically  unknown.  It  probably  lives 
much  like  its  relatives,  raising  a  brood  of  four  to 
six  young  in  a  warm  chamber  far  underground,  and 
brings  them  up  to  eat  all  manner  of  seeds,  grains, 
fruits,  herbs,  berries,  insects,  birds,  eggs,  and  even 
mice,  just  as  do  most  of  its  kinsmen,  but  no  one 
has  proved  any  of  these  things.  Any  exact  observa- 
tions you  may  make  are  sure  to  be  acceptable  con- 
tributions to  science. 


K 

The  Rabbits  and 
their  Habits 


Captives;  photo  by  E.  T.  Setun 

xxvii.    The  Snowshoe  Hare  is  a  cross  between  a  Rabbit  and  a 
Snowdrift 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

IF  THE  Wolf  may  be  justly  proud  of  his  jaws 
and  the  Antelope  of  his  legs,  I  am  sure  that 
the  Rabbit  should  very  properly  glory  in  his 
matchless  fecundity.    To  perfect  this  power  he 
has  consecrated  all  the  splendid  energies  of  his 
vigorous  frame,  and  he  has  magnified  his  specialty 
into  a  success  that  is  worth  more  to  his  race  than 
could  be  any  other  single  gift. 

Rabbits  are  without  weapons  of  defense,  and 
are  simple-minded  to  the  last  degree.  Most  are 
incapable  of  long-distance  speed,  but  all  have  an 
exuberance  of  multiplication  that  fills  their  ranks 
as  fast  as  foe  can  thin  the  line.  If,  indeed,  they 
did  not  have  several  families,  several  times  a 
year,  they  would  have  died  out  several  epochs 
back. 

There  are'three  marked  types  of  Rabbits  in  the 
Rockies  —  the  Cottontail,  the  Snowshoe,  and  the 
Jackrabbit.  All  of  them  are  represented  on  the 


rITt 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 


,^>-: 


Yellowstone,  besides  the  little  Coney  of  the  rocks, 
which  is  a  remote  second  cousin  of  the  family. 

MOLLY  COTTONTAIL,  THE  CLEVER  FREEZER 

I  have  often  had  occasion  to  comment  on  the 
"freezing"  of  animals.  When  they  are  suddenly 
aware  of  a  near  enemy  or  confronted  by  unex- 
pected  situations,  their  habit  is  to  freeze  —  that 
is,  become  perfectly  rigid,  and  remain  so  until  the 
danger  is  past  or  at  least  comprehended. 

Molly  Cottontail  is  one  of  the  best  "freezers." 
Whenever  she  does  not  know  what  to  do,  she  does 
nothing,  obeying  the  old  Western  rule,  "Never 
rush  when  you  are  rattled."  Now  Molly  is  a  very 
nervous  creature.  Any  loud,  sharp  noise  is  liable 
to  upset  her,  and  feeling  herself  unnerved  she  is 
very  apt  to  stop  and  simply  "freeze."  Keep  this 
in  mind  when  next  you  meet  a  Cottontail,  and  get 
a  photograph. 

In  July,  1902, 1  tried  it  myself.  I  was  camped 
with  a  lot  of  Sioux  Indians  on  the  banks  of  the 
Cheyenne  River  in  Dakota.  They  had  their  fami- 
lies with  them,  and  about  sundown  one  of  the 
boys  ran  into  the  tepee  for  a  gun,  and  then  fired 
into  the  grass.  His  little  brother  gave  a  war- 
whoop  that  their  "pa"  might  well  have  been 
proud  of,  then  rushed  forward  and  held  up  a  fat 

152 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

Cottontail,  kicking  her  last  kick.  Another,  a 
smaller  Cottontail,  was  found  not  far  away,  and 
half  a  dozen  young  redskins  armed  with  sticks 
crawled  up,  then  suddenly  let  them  fly.  Bunny 
was  hit,  knocked  over,  and  before  he  could  recover, 
a  dog  had  him. 

I  had  been  some  distance  away.  On  hearing 
the  uproar  I  came  back  toward  my  own  campfire, 
and  as  I  did  so,  my  Indian  guide  pointed  to  a 
Cottontail  twenty  feet  away  gazing  toward  the 
boys.  The  guide  picked  up  a  stick  of  firewood. 

The  boys  saw  him,  and  knowing  that  another 
Rabbit  was  there  they  came  running.  Now  I 
thought  they  had  enough  game  for  supper  and 
did  not  wish  them  to  kill  poor  Molly.  But  I 
knew  I  could  not  stop  them  by  saying  that,  so  I 
said:  "Hold  on  till  I  make  a  photo."  Some  of 
them  understood;  at  any  rate,  my  guide  did,  and 
all  held  back  as  I  crawled  toward  the  Rabbit. 
She  took  alarm  and  was  bounding  away  when  I 
gave  a  shrill  whistle  which  turned  her  into  a 
"frozen"  statue.  Then  I  came  near  and  snapped 
the  camera.  The  Indian  boys  now  closed  inland 
were  going  to  throw,  but  I  cried  out:  "Hold  on! 
not  yet;  I  want  another."  So  I  chased  Bunny 
twenty  or  thirty  yards,  then  gave  another  shrill 
whistle,  and  got  a  fourth  snap.  Again  I  had  to 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

hold  the  boys  back  by  "wanting  another  picture." 
Five  times  I  did  this,  taking  five  pictures,  and  all 
the  while  steering  Molly  toward  a  great  pile  of 
drift  logs  by  the  river.  I  had  now  used  up  all 
my  films. 

The  boys  were  getting  impatient  So  I  addressed 
the  Cottontail  solemnly  and  gently:  "Bunny,  I 
have  done  my  best  for  you.  I  cannot  hold  these 
little  savages  any  longer.  You  see  that  pile  of 
logs  over  there?  Well,  Bunny,  you  have  just  five 
seconds  to  get  into  that  wood- pile.  Now  git!"  and 
I  shooed  and  clapped  my  hands,  and  all  the  young 
Indians  yelled  and  hurled  their  clubs,  the  dogs 
came  bounding  and  Molly  fairly  dusted  the  earth. 

"Go  it,  Molly!" 

"Go  it,  dogs!" 

"Ki-yi,  Injuns!" 

The  clubs  flew  and  rattled  around  her,  but 
Molly  put  in  ten  feet  to  the  hop  and  ten  hops  to 
the  second  (almost),  and  before  the  chase  was  well 
begun  it  was  over;  her  cotton  tuft  disappeared 
Under  a  log;  she  was  safe  in  the  pile  of  wood,  where 
so  far  as  I  know  she  lived  happy  ever  after. 

THE    RABBIT   THAT   WEARS    SNOWSHOES 

The  Snowshoe  Rabbit  is  found  in  all  parts  of  the 
Park,  though  not  in  very  great  numbers.  It  is 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

called  "Snowshoe"  on  account  of  the  size  of  its 
feet,  which,  already  large,  are  in  snow  time  made 
larger  by  fringes  of  stiff  bristles  that  give  the 
creature  such  a  broad  area  of  support  that  it 
can  skip  on  the  surface  of  soft  snow  while  all  its 
kinsmen  sink  in  helplessness. 

Here  is  the  hind  foot  of  a  Snowshoe  in  winter, 
contrasted  with  the  hind  foot  of  a  Jackrabbit  that 
was  nearly  three  times  its  weight. 

Rabbits  are  low  in  the  scale  of  intelligence,  but 
they  are  high  enough  to  have  some  joy  in  social  life. 
It  always  gives  one  a  special  thrill  of  satisfaction 
when  favoured  with  a  little  glimpse  into  the  home 
ways,  the  games,  or  social  life  of  an  animal;  and  the 
peep  I  had  into  the  Rabbit  world  one  night,  though 
but  a  small  affair,  I  have  always  remembered  with 
pleasure,  and  hope  for  a  second  similar  chance. 

This  took  place  in  the  Bitteroot  Mountains  in 
Idaho,  in  1902.  My  wife  and  I  were  out  on  a 
pack-train  trip  with  two  New  York  friends.  We 
had  seen  some  rough  country  in  Colorado  and 
Wyoming,  but  we  soon  agreed  that  the  Bitter- 
roots  were  the  roughest  of  all  the  mountains.  It 
took  twenty-eight  horses  to  carry^the  stuff,  for 
which  eighteen  were  enough  in  the  more  southern 
Rockies. 

The  trails  were  so  crooked  and  hidden  in  thick 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 


woods,  that  sometimes  the  man  at  the  rear  might 
ride  the  whole  day,  and  never  see  all  the  horses 
until  we  stopped  again  for  the  night. 

THE  TERROR  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN  TRAILS 

There  were  other  annoyances,  and  among  them 
a  particularly  dangerous  animal.  The  country 
was  fairly  stocked  with  Moose,  Elk,  Blacktail, 
Sheep,  Goats,  Badgers,  Skunks,  Wolverines,  Foxes, 
Coyotes,  Mountain  Lions,  Lynx,  Wolves,  Black 
Bears  and  Grizzly  Bears,  but  it  was  none  of  these 
that  inspired  us  with  fear.  The  deadly,  dangerous 
creature,  the  worst  of  all,  was  the  common  Yellow- 
Jacket-Wasp.  These  Wasps  abounded  in  the  region. 
Their  nests  were  so  plentiful  that  many  were 
on,  or  by,  the  narrow  crooked  trails  that  we 
must  follow.  Generally  these  trails  were  along 
the  mountain  shoulder  with  a  steep  bank  on 
upside,  and  a  sheer  drop  on  the  other.  It  was  at 
just  such  dangerous  places  that  we  seemed  most 
often  to  find  the  Yellow- Jackets  at  home.  Roused 
by  the  noise  and  trampling,  they  would  assail  the 
horses  in  swarms,  and  then  there  would  be  a 
stampede  of  bucking,  squealing,  tortured  animals. 
Some  would  be  forced  off  the  trail,  and,  as 
often  happened  elsewhere,  dashed  to  their 
below.  This  was  the  daily  danger. 

156 


*    ,nt  &.!&•'•;* 

OTII 

\s5 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

One  morning  late  in  September  we  left  camp 
about  eight,  and  set  off  in  the  usual  line,  the  chief 
guide  leading  and  the  rest  of  us  distributed  at 
intervals  among  the  pack-horses,  as  a  control. 
Near  the  rear  was  the  cook,  after  him  a  pack- 
horse  with  tins  and  dishes,  and  last  of  all  myself. 

At  first  we  saw  no  wasps,  as  the  morning  was 
frosty,  but  about  ten  the  sun  had  become  strong, 
the  air  was  quite  mild,  and  the  wasps  became  lively. 
For  all  at  once  I  heard  the  dreaded  cry,  ^Yellow- 
Jackets"  Then  in  a  moment  it  was  taken  up  by 
the  cook  just  ahead  of  me.  "Yellow- Jackets! 
look  out!"  with  a  note  almost  of  terror  in  his  voice. 

At  once  his  horse  began  to  plunge  and  buck.  I 
saw  the  man  of  pots  clinging  to  the  saddle  and 
protecting  his  face  as  best  he  could,  while  his  mount 
charged  into  the  bushes  and  disappeared. 

Then  "bzz-z-z-z"  they  went  at  the  pot-horse  and 
again  the  bucking  and  squealing,  with  pots  going 
clank,  clink,  rattle  and  away. 

" Bzz-z-z-z-z"  and  in  a  moment  the  dark  and  rag- 
ing little  terrors  came  at  me  in  a  cloud.  I  had  no 
time  to  stop,  or  get  off,  or  seek  another  way.  So  I 
jerked  up  a  coat  collar  to  save  my  face,  held  my 
head  low,  and  tried  to  hold  on,  while  the  little  pony 
went  insane  with  the  fiery  baptism  now  upon  him. 
Plunging,  kicking,  and  squealing  he  went,  and  I 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

stuck'to  him  for  one  —  two  —  three  jumps,  but  at 
number  four,  as  I  remember  it,  I  went  flying  over 
his  head,  fortunately  up  hill,  and  landed  in  the 
bushes  unhurt,  but  ready  for  peace  at  any  price. 

It  is  good  old  wisdom  to  "lay  low  in  case  of 
doubt,"  and  very  low  I  lay  there,  waiting  for  the 
war  to  cease.  It  was  over  in  a  few  seconds,  for  my 
horse  dashed  after  his  fellows  and  passed  through 
the  bushes,  so  that  the  winged  scorpions  were  left 
behind.  Presently  I  lifted  my  head  and  looked 
cautiously  toward  the  wasp's-nest.  It  was  in  a 
bank  twenty  feet  away,  and  the  angry  swarm  was 
hovering  over  it,  like  smoke  from  a  vent  hole. 
They  were  too  angry,  and  I  was  too  near,  to  run 
any  risks,  so  I  sank  down  again  and  waited.  In 
one  or  two  minutes  I  peered  once  more,  getting  a 
sight  under  a  small  log  lying  eight  or  ten  feet  away. 
And  as  I  gazed  waspward  my  eye  also  took  in  a 
brown  furry  creature  calmly  sitting  under  the  log, 
wabbling  his  nose  at  me  and  the  world  about  him. 
It  was  a  young  Snowshoe  Rabbit. 

BUNNY'S  RIDE 

There  is  a  certain  wild  hunter  instinct  in  us  all,  a 
wish  to  capture  every  wood  creature  we  meet. 
That  impulse  came  on  me  in  power.  There  was  no 
more  danger  from  wasps,  so  I  got  cautiously  above 

158 


The  Rabbits  and  theft  Habits 

• 

this  log,  put  a  hand  down  at  each  side,  grabbed 
underneath,  ^  and  the  Rabbit  was  my  prisoner. 
Now  I  had  him,  what  was  I  going  to  do  with  him  — 
kiU  him?  Certainly  not.  I  began  to  talk  to  him. 
"  Now  what  did  I  catch  you  for?  "  His  only  reply 
was  a  wobble  of  his  nose,  so  I  continued :  "I  didn't 
know  when  I  began,  but  I  know  now.  I  want  to 
get  your  picture. "  And  again  the  nose  wobbled. 

I  could  not  take  it  then  as  my  camera  had  gone 
on  with  my  horse.  I  had  nothing  to  put  the  Rabbit 
in.  I  could  not  put  it  in  my  pocket  as  that  would 
mean  crushing  it  in  some  early  tumble;  I  needed 
both  my  hands  to  climb  with  and  catch  my  horse, 
so  for  lack  of  a  better  place  I  took  off  my  hat  and 
said,  "Bunny,  how  would  you  like  to  ride  in  that?  " 
He  wobbled  his  nose,  which  I  understood  to  mean 
that  he  didn't  care.  So  I  put  the  Rabbit  on  my? 
head,  and  put  the  hat  on  again. 

Then  I  went  forward  and  found  that  the  cook 
had  recovered  his  pots  and  pans;  all  was  well  now 
and  my  horse  was  awaiting  me. 

I  rode  all  the  rest  of  that  day  with  the  Rabbit 
quietly  nestling  in  my  hair.  It  was  a  long,  hard 
day,  for  we  continued  till  nightfall  and  then  made  a 
dark  camp  in  a  thick  pine  woods.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  make  pictures  then,  so  I  put  the  little  Rabbit 
under  a  leatheroid  telescope  lid,  on  a  hard  level 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

place,  gave  him  food  and  water,  and  left  him  for 
use  in  the  morning. 

THE  RABBIT  DANCE 

About  nine  o'clock  that  night  we  were  sitting 
about  the  fire,  when  from  the  near  woods  was 
heard  a  tremendous  "tap-tap-taptrrr,"  so  loud  and 
so  near  that  we  all  jumped  and  stared  into  the 
darkness.  Again  it  came,  "tap-tap-tap  trrrrr, "  a 
regular  drum  tattoo. 

"What  is  that?"  we  all  exclaimed,  and  at  that 
moment  a  large  Rabbit  darted  across  the  open 
space  lighted  by  the  fire. 

Again  the  tattoo  and  another  Rabbit  dashed 
across.  Then  it  dawned  on  me  that  that  was  the 
young  Rabbit  signalling  to  his  friends.  He  was 
using  the  side  of  his  box  for  a  drum. 

Again  the  little  prisoner  rolled  his  signal  call,  and 
then  a  third  Snowshoe  Rabbit  appeared. 

"Look  at  all  the  Rabbits!"  exclaimed  my  friend. 
"Where  is  my  gun?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "you  don't  need  your  gun.  Wait 
and  see.  There  is  something  up.  That  little 
chap  is  ringing  up  central. " 

"I  never  saw  so  many  together  in  all  my  life," 
said  he.    Then  added:    "I've  got  an  acetylene 
lantern;  perhaps  we  can  get  a  picture. " 
160 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

As  soon  as  he  had  his  camera  and  lantern,  we 
went  cautiously  to  the  rabbity  side  of  the  woods; 
several  ran  past  us.  Then  we  sat  down  on  a 
smooth  place.  My  friend  held  the  camera,  I  held 
the  light,  but  we  rested  both  on  the  ground.  Very 
soon  a  Rabbit  darted  from  the  darkness  into  the 
great  cone  of  light  from  the  lantern,  gazed  at  that 
wonder  for  a  moment,  gave  a  "thump"  and  dis- 
appeared. Then  another  came;  then  two  or  three. 
They  gazed  into  this  unspeakably  dazzling  thing, 
then  one  gave  the  alarm  by  thumping,  and  all  were 
lost  to  sight. 

But  they  came  again  and  in  ever-increasing  num- 
bers, 4,  5,  7,  8,  10  at  last,  now  in  plain  view, 
gazing  wildly  at  the  bright  light,  pushing  forward 
as  though  fascinated.  Some  two  or  three  so  close 
together  that  they  were  touching  each  other. 
Then  one  gave  the  thumping  alarm,  and  all  scat- 
tered like  leaves,  to  vanish  like  ghosts.  But  they 
came  back  again,  to  push  and  crawl  up  nearer  to 
that  blazing  wonder.  Some  of  the  back  ones  were 
skipping  about  but  the  front  ones  edged  up  hi  a  sort 
of  wild-eyed  fascination.  Closer  and  closer  they 
got,  then  the  first  one  was  so  near  that  reaching  out 
to  smell  the  lantern  he  burnt  his  nose,  and  at  his 
alarm  thump,  all  disappeared  in  the  woods.  But 
they  soon  returned  to  disport  again  in  that  amazing 
161 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

brightness;  and,  stimulated  by  the  light,  they 
danced  about,  chasing  each  other,  dodging  around 
in  large  circles  till  one  of  the  outermost  leaped 
over  the  camera  box  and  another  following  him, 
leaped  up  and  sat  on  it.  My  friend  was  just 
behind,  hidden  by  the  light  in  front,  and  he  had  no 
trouble  in  clutching  the  impudent  Rabbit  with 
both  hands.  Instantly  it  set  up  a  loud  squealing. 
The  other  Rabbits  gave  a  stamping  signal,  and 
in  a  moment  all  were  lost  in  the  woods,  but  the 
one  we  held.  Quickly  we  transported  it  to  another 
leatheroid  box,  intending  to  take  its  picture  in  the 
morning,  but  the  prisoner  had  a  means  of  attack 
that  I  had  not  counted  on.  Just  as  we  were  going 
to  sleep  he  began  with  his  front  feet  on  the 
resounding  box  and  beat  a  veritable  drum  tattoo 
of  alarm.  Every  one  in  camp  was  awakened,  and 
again,  as  we  were  dropping  off,  the  camp  was 
roused  by  another  loud  "tattoo."  For  nearly 
two  hours  this  went  ^on;  then,  about  midnight, 
utterly  unable  to  sleep,  I  arose  and  let  the  drum- 
mer go  about  his  business,  do  anything  or  go 
anywhere,  so  only  he  would  be  quiet  and  let  us 
attend  to  ours. 

Next  morning  I  photographed  the  little  Bunny, 
and  set  him  free  to  join  his  kin.    It  is  a  surprising 
fact  that  though  we  spent  two  weeks  in  this  valley, 
162 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxix.    The  Baby  Cottontail  that  rode  twenty  miles  in  my  hat 


Sketch  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxx.     Snowshoe  Rabbits  dancing  in  the  light  of  the  lantern 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

and  a  month  in  those  mountains,  we  did  not  see 
another  wild  Rabbit. 

This  incident  is  unique  in  my  experience.  It  is 
the  only  time  when  I  found  the  Snowshoe  Hares 
gathered  for  a  social  purpose,  and  is  the  only  ap- 
proach to  a  game  that  I  ever  heard  of  among 
them. 

THE  GHOST  RABBIT 

An  entirely  different  side  of  Rabbit  life  is  seen 
in  another  mysterious  incident  that  I  have  never 
been  able  to  explain. 

At  one  time  when  I  lived  in  Ontario,  I  .had  a 
very  good  hound  that  was  trained  to  follow  all 
kinds  of  trails.  I  used  to  take  him  out  in  the 
woods  at  night,  give  him  general  instructions  "to 
go  ahead,  and  report  everything  afoot";  then  sit 
down  on  a  log  to  listen  to  his  reports.  And  he 
made  them  with  remarkable  promptness.  Slight 
differences  in  his  bark,  and  the  course  taken,  en- 
abled me  to  tell  at  once  whether  it  was  Fox,  Coon, 
Rabbit,  Skunk,  or  other  local  game.  And  his 
peculiar  falsetto  yelp  when  the  creature  treed,  was 
a  joyful  invitation  to  "come  and  see  for  yourself." 

The  hound's  bark  for  a  Fox  was  deep,  strong, 

and  at   regular   intervals   as  befitted  the  strong 

trail,  and  the  straightaway  run.    But  for  a  Rabbit 

163 


fOX     FO/      FOX 

The  Rabbits  and  their  Habhs 

it  was  broken,  uncertain,  irregular  and  rarely  a 
good  deep  bay. 

One  night  the  dog  bawled  in  his  usual  way, 
"Rabbit,  Rabbit,  Rabbit,"  and  soon  leaving 
the  woods  he  crossed  an  open  field  where  the 
moon  shone  brightly,  and  I  could  easily  see  to 
follow.  Still  yelping  "Rabbit,  Rabbit,  Rabbit," 
he  dashed  into  a  bramble  thicket  in  the  middle 
of  the  field.  But  at  once  he  dashed  out  again 
shrieking,  "Police!  Help!  Murder!"  and  took 
refuge  behind  me,  cowering  up  against  my  legs. 
At  the  same  moment  from  the  side  of  that  bramble 
thicket  there  went  out — a  Rabbit.  Yes,  a  com- 
mon Rabbit  all  right,  but  it  was  a  snow-white  one. 
The  first  albino  Cottontail  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
apparently  the  first  albino  Cottontail  that*  Ranger 
had  ever  seen.  Dogs  are  not  supposed  to  be  su- 
perstitious, but  on  that  occasion  Ranger  behaved 
exactly  as  though  he  thought  that  he  had  seen  a 
ghost. 

A   NARROW-GAUGE   MULE  —  THE    PRAIRIE   HARE 

One  has  to  see  this  creature  with  its  great  flop- 
ping ears,  and  its  stiff-legged  jumping  like  a  buck- 
ing mule,  to  realize  the  aptness  of  its  Western 
nickname. 

•It  proved  later  to  be  an  albino  domestic  Rabbit  run  wild. 
I64 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 


As  it  bounds  away  from  your  pathway  its 
bushy  snow-white  tail  and  the  white  behind  the 
black-tipped  ears  will  point  out  plainly  that 
it  is  neither  the  Texas  Jackrabbit  nor  the  Rocky 
Mountain  Cottontail,  but  the  White-tailed  Jack- 
rabbit,  the  finest  of  all  our  Hares. 

I  have  met  it  in  woods,  mountains,  and  prairies, 
from  California  to  Manitoba  and  found  it  the 
wildest  of  its  race  and  almost  impossible  of  ap- 
proach; except  in  the  great  exceptional  spot,  the 
Yellowstone  Park.  Here  in  the  August  of  1912 
I  met  with  two,  close  to  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs  Hotel.  At  a  distance  of  thirty  feet  they 
gave  me  good  chances  to  take  pictures,  and  though 
the  light  was  very  bad  I  made  a  couple  of  snaps. 
Fifteen  years  ago,  when  first  I  roamed  in  the  Park, 
the  Prairie  Hare  was  exceedingly  rare,  but  now, 
like  so  many  of  the  wild  folk,  it  has  become  quite 
common.  Another  evidence  of  the  efficacy  of 
protection. 

This  silvery-gray  creature  turns  pure  white  in 
the  winter,  when  the  snow  mantle  of  his  range 
might  otherwise  make  it  too  conspicious. 

THE    BUMP    OF    MOSS    THAT    SQUEAKS 

No  matter  how  horrible  a  certain  climate  or 
surroundings  may  seem  to  us,  they  are  sure  to  be 

165 


I] 


.The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

the  ideal  of  some  wild  creature,  its  very  dream  of 
bliss.  I  suppose  that  slide  rock,  away  up  in 
cold,  bleak,  windy  country  above  the  timber-line, 
is  absolutely  the  unloveliest  landscape  and  most 
repulsive  home  ground  that  a  man  could  find  in 
the  mountains  and  yet  it  is  the  paradise,  the 
perfect  place  of  a  wonderful  little  creature  that  is 
found  on  the  high  peaks  of  the  Rockies  from  Cali- 
fornia to  Alaska. 

It  is  not  especially  abundant  in  the  Yellowstone 
Park,  but  it  was  there  that  first  I  made  its  acquaint- 
ance, and  Easterners  will  meet  with  it  in  the  great 
Reserve  more  often  than  in  all  other  parts  of  its 
range  put  together. 

As  one  reaches  the  Golden  Gate,  near  Mammoth 
Hot  Springs,  many  little  animals  of  the  Ground- 
squirrel  group  are  seen  running  about,  and  from 
the  distance  comes  a  peculiar  cry,  a  short  squeak 
uttered  every  ten  or  fifteen  seconds.  You  stop, 
perhaps  search  with  your  eye  the  remote  hillside, 
but  you  are  looking  too  far  afield.  Glance  toward 
the  tumbled  rock  piles,  look  at  every  high  point. 
There  on  top  of  one  you  note  a  little  gray  lump,  like 
a  bump  of  moss,  the  size  of  your  fist,  clinging  to  the 
point  of  the  rock.  Fix  your  glasses  on  it,  and  you 
will  see  plainly  that  the  squeak  is  made  by  this 
tiny  creature,  like  a  quarter-grown  Rabbit  with 
166 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

short,  round,  white-rimmed  ears  and  no  visible  tail. 
This  is  the  curious  little  animal  that  cannot  be 
happy  anywhere  but  in  the  slide  rock;  this  is  the 
Calling  Hare.  "Little  Chief  Hare"  is  its  Indian 
name,  but  it  has  many  others  of  much  currency, 
such  as  "Pika,"  and  "Starved  Rat,"  the  latter 
because  it  is  never  fat.  The  driver  calls  it  a 
" Coney, "  or  "Rock  Rabbit. "  In  its  colour,  size, 
shape,  and  habits  it  differs  from  all  other  crea- 
tures in  the  region;  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  it. 
Though  a  distant  kinsman  of  the  Rabbits,  it  is 
unlike  them  in  looks  and  ways.  Thus  it  has,  as 
noted,  the  very  un-rabbit-like  habit  of  squeaking 
from  some  high  lookout.  This  is  doubtless  a  call 
of  alarm  to  let  the  rest  of  the  company  know  that 
there  is  danger  about,  for  the  Coney  is  a  gregarious 
creature;  there  may  be  a  hundred  of  them  in  the 
rock-slide. 

Some  years  ago,  in  Colorado,  I  sketched  one  of 
the  Coneys  by  help  of  a  field  glass.  He  was  putting 
all  the  force  of  his  energetic  little  soul  into  the 
utterance  of  an  alarm  cry  for  the  benefit  of  his 
people.  jf 

But  the  most  interesting  habit  of  this  un-rabbity  / 

Rabbit  is  its  way  of  preparing  for  winter.  //i\  t 

••    When  the  grass,  the  mountain  dandelions,  and       //^ * 
the  peavines  are  at  their  best  growth  for  making  >T'  *\  ' 

&M 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 


hay,  the  Coney,  with  his  kind,  goes  warily  from  his 
stronghold  in  the  rocks  to  the  nearest  stretch  of 
herbage,  and  there  cuts  as  much  as  he  can  carry  of 
the  richest  growths;  then  laden  with  a  bundle  as 
big  as  himself,  and  very  much  longer,  he  makes 
for  the  rocks,  and  on  some  flat  open  place  spreads 
the  herbage  out  to  be  cured  for  his  whiter  hay. 
Out  in  full  blaze  of  the  sun  he  leave  it,  and  if  some 
inconsiderate  rock  comes  in  between,  to  least  a 
shadow  on  his  hay  a-curing,  he  moves  the  one  that 
is  easiest  to  move;  he  never  neglects  his  hay. 
When  dry  enough  to  be  safe,  he  packs  it  away  into 
his  barn,  t,he  barn  being  a  sheltered  crevice  in  the 
rocks  where  the  weather  cannot  harm  it,  and 
where  it  will  continue  good  until  the  winter  time, 
when  otherwise  there  would  be  a  sad  pinch  of 
famine  in  the  Coney  world.  The  trappers  say 
that  they  can  tell  whether  the  winter  will  be  hard 
or  open  by  the  amount  of  food  stored  up  in  the 
Coney  barns. 

Many  a  one  of  these  I  have  examined  in  the 
mountains  of  British  Columbia  and  Colorado,  as 
well  as  in  the  Park.  The  quantity  of  hay  in  them 
varies  from  what  might  fill  a  peck  measure  to  what 
would  make  a  huge  armful.  Among  the  food 
plants  used,  I  found  many  species  of  grass,  thistle, 
meadow-rue,  peavine,  heath,  and  the  leaves  of 
168 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

several  composite  plants.  I  suspect  that  fuller 
observations  will  show  that  they  use  every  herb 
not  actually  poisonous,  that  grows  in  the  vicinity 
of  their  citadel.  More  than  one  of  these  wads  of 
hay  had  in  the  middle  of  it  a  nest  or  hollow;  not,  I 
suspect,  the  home  nest  where  the  young  are  raised, 
but  a  sort  of  winter  restaurant  where  they  could  go 
while  the  ground  was  covered  with  snow,  and 
sitting  in  the  midst  of  their  provisions,  eat  to  their 
heart's  content. 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  in  this  we  see  the  growth 
of  the  storage  habit,  beginning  first  with  a  warm 
nest  of  hay,  which  it  was  found  could  be  utilized 
for  food  when  none  other  was  available.  The  fact 
that  these  barns  are  used  year  after  year  is  shown 
by  the  abundance  of  pellets  in  several  layers  which 
were  found  hi  and  about  them. 

THE  WEATHERWISE  CONEY 

A  very  wise  little  people  is  this  little  people  of 
the  Rocks.  Not  only  do  they  realize  that  in  sum- 
mer they  must  prepare  for  winter,  but  they  know 
how  to  face  a  present  crisis,  however  unexpected. 
To  appreciate  the  following  instance,  we  must 
remember  that  the  central  thought  in  the  Coney's 
life  is  his  "grub  pile"  for  winter  use,  and  next  that 
he  is  a  strictly  daytime  animal.  I  have  often  slept 
169 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

near  a  Coney  settlement  and  never  heard  a  sound  or 
seen  a  sign  of  their  being  about  after  dark.  Never- 
theless, Merriam  tells  us  that  he  and  Vernon  Bailey 
once  carried  their  blankets  up  to  a  Coney  colony 
above  timber-line  in  the  Salmon  River  Mountains 
of  Idaho,  intending  to  spend  the  night  there  and  to 
study  the  Coneys  whose  piles  of  hay  were  visible 
in  all  directions  on  their  rocks.  As  this  was  about 
the  first  of  September,  it  was  natural  to  expect  fair 
weather  and  a  complete  curing  of  the  hay  in  a  week 
or  so.  But  a  fierce  storm  set  in  with  the  descend- 
ing night.  The  rain  changed  to  hail  and  then  to 
snow,  and  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  naturalists, 
they  heard  the  squeak  of  the  Coneys  all  night  long. 
These  animals  love  the  sunshine,  the  warmth  and 
the  daylight,  and  dread  cold  and  darkness  as  much 
as  we  do.  It  must  have  been  a  bitter  experience 
when  at  the  call  of  the  older  ones  every  little  Coney 
had  to  tumble  out  of  his  warm  bed  in  the  chill 
black  hours  and  face  the  driving  sleet  to  save  the 
winter's  supplies.  But  tumble  out  they  did,  and 
overtime  they  worked,  hard  and  well,  for  when 
the  morning  dawned  the  slide-rock  and  the  whole 
world  was  covered  deep  in  snow,  but  every  hay- 
cock had  been  removed  to  a  safer  place  under  the 
rocks,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  Coney  once  more  ex- 
emplified, with  adequate  energy  to  make  it  effective. 
170 


Sketched  in  the  Bitlerroot  Mts.  by  E.  T.  Seton 

xxxi.     Snowshoe  Rabbits  fascinated  by  the  lantern 


xxxii.     The  Ghost  Rabbit 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

HIS  SAFETY  IS  IN  THE   ROCKS 

No  one  has  ever  yet  found  the  home  nest  of  the 
Calling  Hare.  It  is  so  securely  hidden  under 
rocks,  and  in  galleries  below  rocks,  that  all  attempts 
to  dig  it  out  have  thus  far  failed.  I  know  of 
several  men,  not  to  mention  Bears,  Badgers, 
Wolverines,  and  Grizzlies,  who  have  essayed  to 
unearth  the  secret  of  the  Coney's  inner  life.  Fol- 
lowing on  the  trail  of  a  Coney  that  bleated  de- 
risively at  me  near  Pagoda  Peak,  Col.,  I  began 
at  once  to  roll  rocks  aside  in  an  effort  to  follow  jhirn 
home  to  his  den.  The  farther  I  went  the  less 
satisfaction  I  found.  The  uncertain  trail  ramified 
more  and  more  as  I  laboured.  Once  or  twice  from 
far  below  me  I  heard  a  mocking  squeak  that 
spurred  me  on,  but  that  too,  ceased.  When  about 
ten  tons  of  rock  had  been  removed  I  was  baffled. 
There  were  half  a  dozen  possible  lines  of  continua- 
tion, and  while  I  paused  to  wipe  the  "honest  sweat" 
from  my  well-meaning  brow,  I  heard  behind  me 
the  "weak,"  "weak,"  of  my  friend  as  though 
giving  his  estimate  of  my  resolution,  and  I  de- 
scried him  —  I  suppose  the  same  —  on  a  rock 
point  like  a  moss-bump  against  the  sky-line  away 
to  the  left.  Only,  one  end  of  the  moss-bump 
moved  a  little  each  time  a  squeak  was  cast  upon  the 
air.  I  had  not  time  to  tear  down  the  whole  moun- 
171 


The  Rabbits  and  their  Habits 

tain,  so  I  did  as  my  betters,  the  Bears  and  Badgers 
have  done  before  me,  I  gave  it  up.  I  had  at  least 
found  out  why  the  Coney  avoids  the  pleasant 
prairie  and  the  fertile  banks,  and  I  finished  with  a 
new  and  profounder  understanding  of  the  Scripture 
text  which  says  in  effect,  "As  for  the  Coney,  his 
safe  refuge  is  in  the  rocks. " 


172 


X 

Ghosts     of 

the  Campf  ire 


X 

Ghosts  of  the  Campfirc 

IT  IS  always  worth  while  to  cultivate  the  old 
guides.  Young  guides  are  often  fresh  and 
shallow,  but  the  quiet  old  fellows,  that  have 
spent  their  lives  in  the  mountains,  must  be 
good  or  they  could  not  stay  in  the  business;  and 
they  have  seen  so  much  and  been  so  far  that  they 
are  Like  rare  old  manuscript  volumes,  difficult  to 
read,  but  unique  and  full  of  value.  It  is  not  easy 
to  get  them  to  talk,  but  there  is  a  combination  that 
often  does  it.  First,  show  yourself  worthy  of  their 
respect  by  holding  up  your  end,  be  it  in  an  all-day 
clinib  or  breakneck  ride;  then  at  night,  after  the 
others  have  gone  to  bed,  you  sit  while  the  old  guide 
smokes,  and  by  a  few  brief  questions  and  full 
attention,  show  that  you  value  any  observations 
he  may  choose  to  make.  Many  happy  hours  and 
much  important  information  have  been  my  reward 
for  just  such  cautious  play,  and  often  as  we  sat, 
there  flitted  past,  in  the  dim  light,  the  silent  shad- 


Ghosts  of  the  Campftre 

owy  forms  of  the  campfire  ghosts.  Swift,  not 
twinkling,  but  looming  light  and  fading,  absolutely 
silent.  Sometimes  approaching  so  near  that  the 
still  watcher  can  get  the  glint  of  beady  eyes  or 
even  of  a  snowy  breast,  for  these  ghosts  are  merely 
the  common  Mice  of  the  mountains,  abounding 
in  every  part  of  the  West. 

There  are  half  a  dozen  different  kinds,  yet  most 
travellers  will  be  inclinded  to  bunch  them  all,  and 
pass  them  by  as  mere  Mice.  But  they  are  worthy 
of  better  treatment.  Three,  at  least,  are  so  differ- 
ent in  form  and  ways  that  you  should  remember 
them  by  their  names. 

First  is  the  Whitefooied  or  Deer-mouse.  This  is 
the  one  that  you  find  in  the  coffee  pot  or  the  water 
bucket  in  the  morning;  this  is  the  one  that  skips 
out  of  the  "grub  box"  when  the  cook  begins  break- 
fast; and  this  is  the  one  that  runs  over  your  face 
with  its  cold  feet  as  you  sleep  nights.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  widely  diffused  mammals  in  North  Amer- 
ica to-day,  and  probably  the  most  numerous. 

It  is  an  elegant  little  creature,  with  large,  lustrous 
black  eyes  like  those  of  a  Deer,  a  fact  which,  com- 
bined with  its  large  ears,  the  fawn-coloured  back, 
and  the  pure  white  breast,  has  given  it  the  name 
of  "Deer-mouse. "  It  is  noted  for  drumming  with 
one  foot  as  a  call  to  its  mate,  and  for  uttering  a 

176 


Ghosts  of  the  Campfire 

succession  of  squeaks  and  trills  that  serve  it  as  a 
song. 

Sometimes  its  nest  is  underground;  and  some- 
times in  a  tree,  whence  the  name  Tree-mouse.  It 
breeds  several  times  in  a  year  and  does  not  hiber- 
nate, so  is  compelled  to  lay  up  stores  of  food  for 
winter  use.  To  help  it  in  doing  this  it  has  a  very 
convenient  pair  of  capacious  pockets,  one  in  each 
cheek,  opening  into  the  mouth. 

THE  JUMPING  MOUSE 

He  glides  around  the  fire  much  as  the  others  do, 
but  at  the  approach  of  danger,  he  simply  fires 
himself  out  of  a  catapujt,  afar  into  the  night. 
Eight  or  ten  feet  he  can  cover  in  one  of  these  bounds 
and  he  can,  and  does,  repeat  them  as  often  as 
necessary.  How  he  avoids  knocking  out  his  own 
brains  in  his  travels  I  have  not  been  able  to  under- 
stand. 

This  is  the  New  World  counterpart  of  the 
Jerboa,  so  familiar  in  ouj  school  books  as  a  sort  of 
diminutive  but  glorified  kangaroo  that  frequents 
the  great  Pyramids.  It  is  so  like  a  Jerboa  in  build 
and  behaviour  that  I  was  greatly  surprised  and 
gratified  to  find  my  scientist  friends  quite  willing 
that  I  should  style  it  the  American  representative 
of  the  African  group. 

-177 


Ghosts  of  the  Campfite 


The  country  folk  in  the  East  will  tell  you  that 
there  are  "seven  sleepers"  in  our  woods,  and  enu- 
merate them  thus:  the  Bear,  the  Coon,  the  Skunk, 
the  Woodchuck,  the  Chipmunk,  the  Bat,  and  the 
Jumping  Mouse.  All  are  good  examples,  but  the 
longest,  soundest  sleeper  of  the  whole  somnolent 
brotherhood  is  the  Jumping  Mouse.  Weeks  before 
summer  is  ended  it  has  prepared  a  warm  nest  deep 
underground,  beyond  the  reach  of  cold  or  rain,  and 
before  the  early  frost  has  nipped  the  aster,  the 
Jumping  Mouse  and  his  wife  curl  up  with  their 
long  tails  around  themselves  like  cords  on  a  spool, 
and  sleep  the  deadest  kind  of  a  dead  sleep,  unbroken 
by  even  a  snore,  until  summer  is  again  in  the  land, 
and  frost  and  snow  unknown.  This  means  at  least 
seven  months  on  the  Yellowstone. 

Since  the  creature  is  chiefly  nocturnal,  the  travel- 
ler is  not  likely  to  see  it,  excepting  late  at  night 
when  venturesome  individuals  often  come  creeping 
about  the  campfire,  looking  for  scraps  or  crumbs; 
or  sometimes  other  reckless  youngsters  of  the  race, 
going  forth  to  seek  their  fortunes,  are  found  drowned 
in  the  tanks  or  wells  about  the  hotels. 

Here  is  a  diagram  of  a  Jumper  in  the  act  of  living 
up  to  its  reputation.  And  at  once  one  asks  what 
AS  the  reason  for  this  interminable  tail.  The  an- 
swer is,  it  is  the  tail  to  the  kite,  the  feathering  to 

278 


Ghosts  of  the  Campfire 

the  arrow;  and  observation  shows  that  a  Jumping 
Mouse  that  has  lost  its  tail  is  almost  helpless  to 
escape  from  danger.  A  good  naturalist  records 
that  one  individual  that  was  de-tailed  by  a  mowing 
machine,  jumped  frantically  and  far,  but  had  no 
control  of  the  direction,  and  just  as  often  as  not 
went  straight  up  or  landed  wrong  end  to,  and 
sometimes  on  a  second  bound  was  back  where  it  had 
started  from. 

It  is  very  safe  to  say  that  all  unusual  develop- 
ments serve  a  very  vital  purpose  in  the  life-of  the 
creature,  but  we  are  not  always  so  fortunate  as  in 
this  case,  to  know  what  that  purpose  is. 

THE  CALLING  MOUSE 

One  day  fifteen  years  ago  I  was  sitting  on  a  low 
banknear  Baronett's  Bridge  across  the  Yellowstone, 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  Yancey's.  The  bank  was  in 
an  open  place,  remote  from  cliffs  or  thick  woods;  it 
was  high,  dry,  and  dotted  with  holes  of  rather 
larger  than  field-mouse  size,  which  were  further 
peculiar  in  that  most  of  them  went  straight  down 
and  none  was  connected  with  any  visible  overland 
runways. 

All  of  which  is  secondary  to  the  fact  that  I  was 
led  to  the  bank  by  a  peculiar  bleating  noise  like  the 
"weak"  of  a  Calling  Hare,  but  higher  pitched. 
179 


Ghosts  of  the  Campfire 

As  I  passed  the  place  the  squeakers  were  left 
behind  me,  and  so  at  last  I  traced  the  noise  to  some 
creature  underground.  But  what  it  was  I  could 
not  see  or  determine.  I  knew  only  from  the  size  of 
the  hole  it  must  be  as  small  as  a  Mouse. 

Not  far  away  from  this  I  drew  some  tracks  I 
found  in  the  dust,  and  later  when  I  showed  the 
drawing,  and  told  the  story  to  a  naturalist  friend, 
he  said:  "I  had  the  same  experience  in  that  coun- 
try once,  and  was  puzzled  until  I  found  out  by 
keeping  a  captive  that  the  creature  hi  the  bank  was 
a  Grasshopper  Mouse  or  a  Calling  Mouse,  and 
those  in  your  drawing  are  its  tracks. " 

At  one  time  it  was  considered  an  extremely  rare 
animal,  but  now,  having  discovered  its  range,  we 
know  it  to  be  quite  abundant.  In  northern  New 
Mexico  I  found  one  species  so  common  in  the  corn- 
field that  I  could  catch  two  or  three  every  night 
with  a  few  mousetraps.  But  it  is  scarce  on  the 
Yellowstone,  and  all  my  attempts  to  trap  it  were 
frustrated  by  the  much  more  abundant  Deer-mice, 
which  sprang  the  bait  and  sacrificed  themselves, 
every  time  I  tried  for  the  Squeaker. 

In  the  fall  of  1912  I  was  staying  at  Standing 

Rock  Agency  in  North  Dakota.    On  the  broken 

ground,  between  the  river  and  the  high  level  prairie, 

I  noted  a  ridge  with  holes  exactly  like  those  I  had 

180 


Ghosts  of  the  Campftre 

seen  on  the  Yellowstone.  A  faint  squeak  under- 
ground gave  additional  and  corroborative  evidence. 
So  I  set  a  trap  and  next  night  had  a  specimen  of 
the  Squeaker  as  well  as  a  couple  of  the  omnipresent 
Deer-mice. 

Doubtless  the  Calling  Mouse  has  an  interesting 
and  peculiar  life  history,  but  little  is  known  of  it 
except  that  it  dwells  on  the  dry  plains,  is  a  caller  by 
habit;  —  through  not  around  the  campfire  —  it 
feeds  largely  on  grasshoppers,  and  is  in  mortal 
terror  of  ants. 


181 


XI 

Sneak-cats 
Big  and  Small 


XI 

Sneak-cats — Big  and  Small 

YOU  may  ride  five  hundred  miles  among  the 
mountains,  in  a  country  where  these  beasts 
of  prey  abound,  and  yet  see  never  a  hair  of 
a  living  Wildcat.  But  how  many  do  you  suppose  see 
you?  Peeping  from  a  thicket,  near  the  trail, 
glimpsing  you  across  some  open  valley  in  the 
mountains,  or  inspecting  you  from  various  points 
as  you  recline  by  the  campfire,  they  size 
you  up  and  decide  they  want  no  nearer  deal- 
ings with  you;  you  are  bad  medicine,  a  thing 
to  be  eluded.  And  oh!  how  clever  they  are  at 
eluding  us. 

If  you  turn  out  the  biggest  Lynx  on  the  smoothest 
prairie  you  ever  saw,  he  will  efface  himself  before 
you  count  twenty.  The  grass  may  be  but  three 
inches  high  and  the  Lynx  twenty-three,  but  he 
will  melt  into  it,  and  wholly  escape  the  searching 
eyes  of  the  keenest.  One  would  not  think  an 
empty  skin  could  lie  more  flat.  Add  to  this  the 

185 


Sneak-cats 

silent  sinuosity  of  his  glide;  he  seems  to  ooze 
around  the  bumps  and  stumps,  and  bottle  up  his 
frightful  energy  for  the  final  fearsome  leap.  His 
whole  makeup  is  sacrificed  to  efficiency  in  that 
leap;  on  that  depends  his  life;  his  very  existence 
turns  on  the  wondrous  perfection  of  the  sneak,  of 
which  the  leap  is  the  culmination.  Hunters  in  all 
parts  where  these  creatures  abound,  agree  in  calling 
Wildcat,  Lynx,  and  Cougar  by  the  undignified  but 
descriptive  name  of  Sneak-cat. 

THE  BOBCAT  OR  MOUNTAIN  WILDCAT 

The  Wildcat  of  Europe,  and  of  literature,  is  a 
creature  of  almost  unparalleled  ferocity.  Our  own 
Wildcat  is  three  times  as  big  and  heavy,  so  many 
persons  assume  that  it  is  three  times  as  ferocious, 
and  therefore  to  be  dreaded  almost  like  a  Tiger. 
The  fact  is,  the  American  Wildcat  or  Bobcat  is  a 
very  shy  creature,  ready  to  run  from  a  very  small 
dog,  never  facing  a  man  and  rarely  killing  anything 
bigger  than  a  Rabbit. 

I  never  saw  but  one  Bobcat  in  the  Yellow- 
stone Park,  and  that  was  not  in  the  Park,  but 
at  Gardiner  where  it  was  held  a  captive.  But 
it  came  from  the  Park,  and  the  guides  tell  me 
that  the  species  is  quite  common  in  some 
localities. 


Sneak-cats 

It  is  readily  recognized  by  its  cat-like  form  and 
its  short  or  bob-tail,  whence  its  name. 

MISUNDERSTOOD  —  THE  CANADA  LYNX 

The  southern  part  of  North  America  is  occupied 
by  Bobcats  of  various  kinds,  the  northern  part  by 
Lynxes,  their  very  near  kin,  and  there  is  a  narrow 
belt  of  middle  territory  occupied  by  both.  The 
Yellowstone  Park  happens  to  be  in  that  belt,  so  we 
find  here  both  the  Mountain  Bobcat  and  the 
Canada  Lynx. 

I  remember  well  three  scenes  from  my  childhood 
days  in  Canada,  in  which  this  animal  was  the 
central  figure.  A  timid  neighbour  of  ours  was  sur- 
prised one  day  to  see  a  large  Lynx  come  out  of  the 
woods  in  broad  daylight,  and  walk  toward  his 
house.  He  went  inside,  got  his  gun,  opened  the 
door  a  little,  and  knelt  down.  The  Lynx  walked 
around  the  house  at  about  forty  yards  distance,  the 
man  covering  it  with  the  gun  most  of  the  time,  but 
hif  hand  was  shaking,  the  gun  was  wabbling,  and  he 
was  tormented  with  the  thought,  "What  if  I  miss, 
then  that  brute  will  come  right  at  me,  and  then, 
oh,  dear!  what?" 

He  had  not  the  nerve  to  fire  and  the  Lynx  walked 
back  to  the  woods.  How  well  I  remember  that 
man.  A  kind-hearted,  good  fellow,  but  oh!  so 
187 


Sneak-cats 

timid.  His  neighbours  guyed  him  about  it, 
until  at  last  he  sold  out  his  farm  and  joined  the 
ministry. 

The  next  scene  was  similar.  Two  men  were  out 
Coon-hunting,  when  their  dogs  treed  something. 
A  blazing  fire  soon  made,  showed  plainly  aloft 
in  the  tree  the  whiskered  head  of  a  Lynx.  The 
younger  man  levelled  his  gun  at  it,  but  the  other 
clung  to  his  arm  begging  him  to  come  away,  re- 
minding him  that  both  had  families  dependent 
on  them,  and  earnestly  protesting  that  the  Lynx,  if 
wounded,  would  certainly  come  down  and  kill  the 
whole  outfit. 

The  third  was  wholly  different.  In  broad 
daylight  a  Lynx  came  out  of  the  woods  near  a 
settler's  house,  entered  the  pasture  and  seized  a 
lamb.  The  good  wife  heard  the  noise  of  the  sheep 
rushing,  and  went  out  in  time  to  see  the  Lynx 
dragging  the  victim.  She  seized  a  stick  and  went 
'or  the  robber.  He  growled  defiantly,  but  at  the 
first  blow  of  the  stick  he  dropped  the  lamb  and  ran. 
Then  that  plucky  woman  carried  the  lamb  to  the 
house;  finding  four  deep  cuts  in  its  neck  she  sewed 
them  up,  and  after  a  few  days  of  careful  nursing 
restored  the  woolly  one  to  its  mother,  fully  re- 
covered. 

The  first  two  incidents  illustrate  the  crazy  ideas 
188 


Sneak-cats 

that  some  folks  have  about  the  Lynx,  and  the  last 
shows  what  the  real  character  of  the  animal  is. 

I  have  once  or  twice  been  followed  by  Lynxes, 
but  I  am  sure  it  was  merely  out  of  curiosity.  Many 
times  I  have  met  them  in  the  woods  at  close  range 
and  each  time  they  have  gazed  at  me  in  a  sort  of 
mild-eyed  wonder.  There  was  no  trace  of  ferocity 
in  the  gaze,  but  rather  of  innocent  confidence. 

The  earliest  meeting  I  ever  had  with  a  Lynx 
I  shall  remember  when  all  the  other  meetings  have 
been  dimmed  by  time,  but  I  have  used  the  incident 
without  embellishment  in  the  early  part  of  "Two 
Little  Savages, "  so  shall  not  repeat  it  here. 

THE    SHYEST    THING  IN  THE    WOODS  —  MOUNTAIN 
LION,    PUMA   OR   COUGAR 

Reference  to  the  official  report  shows  that  there 
are  about  one  hundred  Mountain  Lions  now  rang- 
ing the  Yellowstone  Park.  And  yet  one  is  very 
safe  in  believing  that  not  twenty-five  persons  of 
thoLe  living  in  the  Park  have  ever  seen  one. 

By  way  of  contrast,  the  report  gives  the  number 
of  Blackbear  at  the  same  —  about  one  hundred  — 
and  yet  every  one  living  in  the  Park  or  passing 
through,  has  seen  scores  of  Bears. 

Why  this  difference?  Chiefly  owing  to  their 
respective  habits.  The  Cougar  is  the  most  elu- 
189 


Sneak-cats 

sive,  sneaking,  adroit  hider,  and  shyest  thing  in 
the  woods.  I  have  camped  for  twenty-five  years  in 
its  country  and  have  never  yet  seen  a  wild  Cougar. 
Almost  never  are  they  found  without  dogs  specially 
trained  to  trail  and  hunt  them. 

Although  I  have  never  seen  a  Cougar  at  large, 
it  is  quite  certain  that  many  a  one  has  watched  me. 
Yes!  even  in  the  Yellowstone  Park.  Remember 
this,  oh  traveller,  sitting  in  front  of  the  Mammoth 
Hot  Springs  Hotel!  you  are  in  sight  of  two  famous 
Cougar  haunts — Mt.  Evarts  and  Bunsen  Peak,  and 
the  chances  are  that,  as  you  sit  and  perhaps  read 
these  lines,  a  Cougar  lolling  gray-brown  among  the 
gray-brown  rocks  of  the  mountain  opposite,  is  calmly 
surveying  all  the  world  about,  including  yourself. 

If  you  consult  the  witching  contraband  books 
that  we  of  a  bygone  age  used  to  read  surreptitiously 
in  school  hours,  you  will  learn  that  "the  Cougar  is 
a  fearsome  beast  of  invincible  prowess.  He  can 
kill  a  Buffalo  or  an  ox  with  a  blow  of  his  paw,  and 
run  off  with  it  at  full  speed  or  carry  it  up  a  tree  to 
devour,  and  he  is  by  choice  a  man-eater.  Com- 
monly uttering  the  cry  of  a  woman  in  distress  to 
decoy  the  gallant  victim  to  his  doom."  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  consult  some  careful  natural  his- 
tories, or  one  or  two  of  the  seasoned  guides,  you 
learn  that  the  Cougar,  though  horribly  destructive 


Sneak-eats 

among  Deer,  sheep,  and  colts,  rarely  kills  a  larger 
prey,  and  never  is  known  to  attack  man. 

I  have  had  many  persons  take  exception  to  the 
last  statement,  and  give  contrary  proof  by  referring 
to  some  hair-lifting  incident  which  seemed  to  be  a 
refutation.  Bu.t  most  of  these  attacks  by  Cougars 
have  failed  to  stand  the  disintegrating  power  of  a 
carefully  focussed  searchlight. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  Cougar  is  addicted 
to  horseflesh,  as  his  scientific  name  implies  (hip- 
polestes= horse  pirate).  He  will  go  a  long  way  to 
kill  a  colt,  and  several  supposed  cases  of  a  Cougar 
attacking  a  man  on  horseback  at  night  prove  to 
have  been  attacks  on  the  horse,  and  in  each  case  on 
discovering  the  man  the  Cougar  had  decamped. 

This  creature  is  also  possessed  of  a  strong  curi- 
osity and  many  times  is  known  to  have  followed  a 
man  in  the  woods  merely  to  study  the  queer  crea- 
ture, but  without  intent  to  do  him  harm.  Never- 
theless the  timid  traveller  who  discovers  he  is 
"parsued  by  a  Cougar"  may  manage  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  has  had  a  hairbreadth  escape. 

THE  TIME  I  MET  A  LION 

A  newspaper  reporter  asked  me  once  for  a  story 
of  terrible  peril  from  our  wild  animals,  a  time 
"  when  I  nearly  lost  my  lif  e. " 
191 


Sneak-cats 

My  answer  was,  "I  never  had  such  an  experi- 
ence. Danger  from  wild  animals  is  practically 
non-existent  in  America  to-day. " 

"Did  you  never  meet  a  Grizzly  or  a  Mountain 
Lion?  "he  asked. 

"Yes,  many  Grizzlies,  and  one  or  two  Lions. 
I've  had  one  look  me  over  while  I  slept, "  was  the 
answer. 

And  now  the  thrill-monger's  face  lighted  up,  he 
straightened  his  paper  and  stuck  his  pencil  in  his 
mouth  by  way  of  getting  ready,  and  ejaculated: 
"Say!  now  you're  getting  it;  let's  hear  the  details. 
Don't  spare  me!" 

"It  was  back  in  September,  1899, "  I  said.  "  My 
wife  and  I  were  camping  in  the  high  Sierra  near  Mt. 
Tallac.  At  this  season  rain  is  unknown,  so  we  took 
no  tent.  Each  of  us  had  a  comfortable  rubber  bed 
and  we  placed  these  about  a  foot  or  two  apart.  In 
the  narrow  alley  between  we  put  a  waterproof 
canvas,  and  on  that  each  night  we  laid  the  guns. 

"We  had  a  couple  of  cowboys  to  look  after  the 
outfit.  A  fortnight  had  gone  by  with  sunny  skies 
and  calm  autumn  weather,  when  one  evening  it 
began  to  blow.  Black,  lumpy  clouds  came  up  from 
the  far-off  sea;  the  dust  went  whirling  in  little 
eddies,  and  when  the  sun  went  down  it  was  of  a 
sickly  yellowish.  The  horses  were  uneasy,  throw- 
192 


Sneak-cats 

ing  up  their  noses,  snorting  softly  and  pricking 
their  ears  in  a  nervous  way. 

"  Every  thing  promised  a  storm  in  spite  of  the 
rule  'no  rain  in  September/  and  we  huddled  into 
our  tentless  beds  with  such  preparation  as  we 
could  make  for  ram. 

"As  night  wore  on  the  windstorm  raged,  and 
one  or  two  heavy  drops  spattered  down.  Then 
there  was  a  loud  snort  or  two  and  a  plunge  of  the 
nearest  horse,  then  quiet. 

"Next  morning  we  found  every  horse  gone,  and 
halters  and  ropes  broken,  while  deep  hoofprints 
showed  the  violence  of  the  stampede  which  we  had 
scarcely  heard.  The  men  set  out  on  foot  after  the 
horses,  and  by  good  luck,  recovered  all  within  a 
mile.  Meanwhile  I  made  a  careful  study  of  the 
ground,  and  soon  got  light.  For  there  were  the 
prints  of  a  huge  Mountain  Lion.  He  had  prowled 
into  camp,  coming  up  to  where  we  slept,  sneaked 
around  and  smelt  us  over,  and  —  I  think  —  walked 
down  the  alley  between  our  beds.  After  that, 
probably,  he  had  got  so  close  to  the  horses  that, 
inspired  by  terror  of  their  most  dreaded  foe,  they 
had  broken  all  bonds  and  stampeded  into  safety. 
Nevertheless,  though  the  horses  were  hi  danger, 
there  can  be  no  question,  I  think,  that  we  were 
not." 


Sneak-cats 

The  reporter  thought  the  situation  more  serious 
than  I  did,  and  persisted  that  if  I  dug  in  my  mem- 
ory I  should  yet  recall  a  really  perilous  predica- 
ment, in  which  thanks  to  some  wild  brute,  I  was 
near  death's  door.  And  as  it  proved  he  was  right. 
I  had  nearly  forgotten  what  looked  like  a  hair- 
breadth escape. 

IN  PERIL  OF  MY  LIFE 

It  was  on  the  same  Sierra  trip.  Our  outfit  had 
been  living  for  weeks  among  the  tall  pines,  sub- 
sisting on  canned  goods;  and  when  at  length  we 
came  out  on  the  meadows  by  Leaf  Lake  we  found 
them  enlivened  by  a  small  herd  of  wild  —  that  is, 
range-cattle. 

"My!"  said  one  of  the  cowboys,  "wouldn't  a 
little  fresh  milk  go  fine  after  all  that  ptomaine 
weVe  been  feeding  on?  " 

"There's  plenty  of  it  there;  help  yourself," 
said  I. 

"I'd  soon  catch  one  if  I  knew  which,  and  what 
to  do  when  I  got  her,"  he  answered. 

Then  memories  of  boyhood  days  on  the  farm 
came  over  me  and  I  said:  "I'll  show  you  a  cow  in 
milk,  and  I'll  milk  her  if  you'll  hold  her." 

"Agreed!    Which  is  the  one? " 

I  put  my  hands  up  to  my  mouth  and  let  off  a  long 

104 


Sneak-cats 


bleat  like  a  calf  in  distress.  The  distant  cattle 
threw  up  their  heads  and  began  "sniffing." 
Another  bleat  and  three  cows  separated  from  the 
others;  two  ran  like  mad  into  the  woods,  the  third 
kept  throwing  her  head  this  way  and  that,  but 
not  running.  "That  one,"  I  said,  "is  your  cow. 
She's  in  milk  and  not  too  recently  come  in. " 

f  Then  away  went  the  cowboys  to  do  their  part. 
The  herd  scattered  and  the  cow  tried  to  run,  but 
the  ponies  sailed  alongside,  the  lariats  whistled 
and  in  a  flash  she  was  held  with  one  rope  around  her 
horns,  the  other  around  one  hind  leg. 

"Now's  your  chance,  Milk-lady!"  they  shouted 
at  me,  and  forward  I  went,  pail  in  hand,  to  milk  that 
snorting,  straining,  wild-eyed  thing.  She  tried  to 
hold  her  milk  up,  but  I  am  an  old  hand  at  that  work. 
She  never  ceased  trying  to  kick  at  me  with  her  free 
hind  leg,  so  I  had  to  watch  the  leg,  and  milk  away. 
The  high  pitched  "tsee  tsee"  had  gradually  given 
place  to  the  low  "tsow  tsow"  of  the  two  streams 
cutting  the  foam  when  a  peculiar  smell  grew 
stronger  until  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  disgusting 
stench.  For  the  first  time  I  glanced  down  at  the 
milk  in  the  pail,  and  there  instead  of  a  dimpled 
bank  of  snowy  foam  was  a  great  yeasty  mass  of 
yellowish  brown  streaked  with  blood. 
Hastily  rising  and  backing  off,  I  said:  "I've  got 


Sneak-cats 

plenty  of  milk  now  for  you  two.  The  rest  of  us 
don't  care  for  any.  Hold  on  till  I  get  back  to  the 
trees." 

Then,  when  I  was  safely  under  cover,  the  boys 
turned  the  cow  loose.  Of  course,  her  first  impulse 
was  revenge,  but  I  was  safe  and  those  mounted  men 
knew  how  to  handle  a  cow.  She  was  glad  to  run 
off. 

"There's  your  milk,"  I  said,  and  pointed  to  the 
pail  I  had  left.  Evidently  that  cow  had  been 
suffering  from  more  than  one  milk  malady.  The 
boys  upset  the  bloody  milk  right  there,  then  took 
the  pail  to  the  stream,  where  they  washed  it  well, 
and  back  to  camp,  where  we  scalded  it  out  several 
times. 

THE  DANGEROUS  NIGHT  VISITOR 

That  night  about  sundown,  just  as  we  finished 
supper,  there  came  from  the  near  prairie  the  mighty, 
portentous  rumbling  roar  of  a  bull  —  the  bellow 
that  he  utters  when  he  is  roused  to  fight,  the 
savage  roar  that  means  "I  smell  blood."  It  is 
one  of  those  tremendous  menacing  sounds  that 
never  fail  to  give  one  the  creeps  and  make  one  feel, 
oh!  so  puny  and  helpless. 

We  went  quietly  go  the  edge  of  the  timber  and 
there  was  the  monster  at  the  place  where  that  evil 
196 


Sonfccafi 

milk  was  spilt,  tearing  up  the  ground  with  hoofs 
and  horns,  and  uttering  that  dreadful  war-bellow, 
The  cowboys  mounted  their  ponies,  and  gave  a 
good  demonstration  of  the  power  of  brains  in  the 
ruling  of  brawn.  They  took  that  bull  at  a  gallop 
a  mile  or  more  away,  they  admonished  him  with 
some  hard  licks  of  a  knotted- rope  and  left  him,  then 
came  back,  and  after  a  while  we  all  turned  in  for 
the  night. 

Just  as  we  were  forgetting  all  things,  the  sweet 
silence  of  the  camp  was  again  disturbed  by  that 
deep,  vibrating  organ  tone,  the  chesty  roaring  of 
the  enraged  bull;  and  we  sprang  up  to  see  the 
huge  brute  striding  in  the  moonlight,  coming  right 
into  camp,  lured  as  before  by  that  sinister  blood 
trail. 

The  boys  arose  and  again  saddled  the  ready 
mounts.  Again  I  heard  the  thudding  of  heavy 
feet,  the  shouts  of  the  riders,  a  few  loud  snorts, 
followed  by  the  silence;  and  when  the  boys  came 
back  in  half  an  hour  we  rolled  up  once  more  and 
speedily  were  asleep. 

To  pass  the  night  in  peace!  not  at  all.  Near 
midnight  my  dreams  were  mixed  with  earthquakes 
and  thunder,  and  slowly  I  waked  to  feel  that  pon- 
derous bellow  running  along  the  ground,  and  setting 
my  legs  a-quiver. 

197 


Sneak-cats 

"Row  -  ow  -  aw  -  ow"  it  came,  and  shook  me  into 
full  wakefulness  to  realize  that  that  awful  brute 
was  back  again.  He  could  not  resist  the  glorious, 
alluring  chance  to  come  and  get  awfully  mad  over 
that  "bluggy  milk."  Now  he  was  in  camp,  close 
at  hand;  the  whole  sky  seemed  blocked  out  and  the 
trees  a-shiver  as  he  came  on. 

" Row  -  ow  -  ow  -  ow"  he  rumbled,  also  snorted 
softly  as  he  came,  and  before  I  knew  it  he  walked 
down  the  narrow  space  between  our  beds  and  the 
wagon.  Had  I  jumped  up  and  yelled,  he,  whether 
mad  or  scared,  might  have  trampled  one  or  other 
of  us.  That  is  the  bull  of  it;  a  horse  steps  over. 
So  I  waited  in  trembling  silence  till  that  horrid 
" Row  -ow-ow-ow"  went  by.  Then  I  arose  and 
yelled  with  all  my  power: 

"Louie!    Frank!    Help!    Here's  the  bull,  "i 

The  boys  were  up  before  I  had  finished.  The 
ready  ponies  were  put  in  commission  in  less  than 
three  minutes.  Then  came  the  stampede,  the 
heavy  thudding,  the  loud  whacks  of  the  ropes,  and 
when  these  sounds  had  died  in  the  distance,  I  heard 
the  "pop,  pop "  of  side  arms.  I  asked  no  questions, 
but  when  the  boys  came  back  and  said,  "well, 
you  bet  he  won't  be  here  again,"  I  believed  them,  j 


198 


ByE.T.Seton 

•xxxvin.    Sketch  of  the  Bear  Family  as  made  on  the  spot 


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Bears  of  High 
and  Low  Degree 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

WHY  is  snoring  a  crime  at  night  and  a  joke 
by  day?  It  seems  to  be  so,  and  the  com- 
mon sense  of  the  public  mind  so  views  it. 

In  the  September  of  1912  I  went  with  a  good 
guide  and  a  party  of  friends,  to  the  region  southeast 
of  Yellowstone  Lake.  This  is  quite  the  wildest 
part  of  the  Park;  it  is  the  farthest  possible  from 
human  dwellings,  and  in  it  the  animals  are  wild 
and  quite  unchanged  by  daily  association  with  man, 
as  pensioners  of  the  hotels. 

Our  party  was  carefully  selected,  a  lot  of  choice 
spirits,  and  yet  there  was  one  with  a  sad  and  un- 
pardonable weakness  —  he  always  snored  a  dread- 
ful snore  as  soon  as  he  fell  asleep.  That  is  why  he 
was  usually  put  in  a  tent  by  himself,  and  sent  to 
sleep  with  a  twenty-five  foot  deadening  space  be- 
tween him  and  us  of  gentler  somnolence. 

He  had  been  bad  the  night  before,  and  now,  by 
request,  was  sleeping  fifty  feet  away.  But  what  is 
201 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

fifty  feet  of  midnight  silence  to  a  forty-inch  chest 
and  a  pair  of  tuneful  nostrils.  About  2  A.M.  I 
was  awakened  as  before,  but  worse  than  ever, 
by  the  most  terrific,  measured  snorts,  and  so  loud 
that  they  seemed  just  next  me.  Sitting  up,  I 
bawled  in  wrath,  "Oh,  Jack,  shut  up,  and  let  some 
one  else  have  a  chance  to  sleep. " 

The  answer  was  a  louder  snort,  a  crashing  of 
brush  and  a  silence  that,  so  far  as  I  know,  continued 
until  sunrise. 

Then  I  arose  and  learned  that  the  snorts  and  the 
racket  were  made,  not  by  my  friend,  but  by  a  huge 
Grizzly  that  had  come  prowling  about  the  camp, 
and  had  awakened  me  by  snorting  into  my  tent. 

But  he  had  fled  in  fear  at  my  yell;  and  this  be- 
haviour exactly  shows  the  attitude  of  the  Grizzlies 
in  the  West  to-day.  They  are  afraid  of  man,  they 
fly  at  whiff  or  sound  of  him,  and  if  in  the  Yel- 
lowstone you  run  across  a  Grizzly  that  seems 
aggressive,  rest  assured  he  has  been  taught  such 
bad  manners  by  association  with  our  own  species 
around  the  hotels. 

THE  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  BEARS 

Some  guides  of  unsound  information  will  tell 
the  traveller  that  there  are  half  a  dozen  different 
kinds  of  Bears  in  or  near  the  Yellowstone  Park  — 
202 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

Blackbear,  Little  Cinnamon,  Big  Cinnamon, 
Grizzlies,  Silver-tip,  and  Roach-backs.  This  is 
sure  however,  there  are  but  two  species,  namely, 
the  Blackbear  and  the  Grizzly. 

The  Blackbear  is  known  by  its  short  front  claws, 
flat  profile  and  black  colour,  with  or  without  a  tan- 
coloured  muzzle.  Sometimes  in  a  family  of  Black- 
bears  there  appears  a  red-headed  youngster,  just  as 
with  ourselves;  he  is  much  like  his  brethren  but 
"all  over  red  complected"  as  they  say  in  Canada. 
This  is  known  to  hunters  as  a  "Little  Cinnamon." 

The  Grizzly  is  known  by  its  great  size,  its  long 
fore  claws,  its  hollow  profile  and  its  silver-sprinkled 
coat.  Sometimes  a  Grizzly  has  an  excessive 
amount  of  silver;  this  makes  a  Silver- tip.  Some- 
times the  silver  is  nearly  absent,  in  which  case  the 
Bear  is  called  a  "Big  Cinnamon."  Sometimes  the 
short  mane  over  his  humped  shoulders  is  exag- 
gerated; this  makes  a  "Roach-back."  Any  or  all 
of  these  are  to  be  looked  for  in  the  Park,  yet  remem- 
ber! they  form  only  two  species.  All  of  the  Black- 
bear  group  are  good  climbers;  none  of  the  Grizzly 
group  climb  after  they  are  fully  grown. 

BEAR-TREES 

There  is  a  curious  habit  of  Bears  that  is  well 
known  without  being  well  understood;  it  is  com- 
203 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

mon  to  all  these  mentioned.  In  travelling  along 
some  familiar  trail  they  will  stop  at  a  certain  tree, 
claw  it,  tear  it  with  their  teeth,  and  rub  their  back 
and  head  up  against  it  as  high  as  they  can  reach, 
even  with  the  tip  of  the  snout,  and  standing  on  tip- 
toes. There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  Bear  coming 
to  a  tree  can  tell  by  scent  whether  another  Bear  has 
been  there  recently,  and  whether  that  Bear  is  a 
male  or  female,  a  friend,  a  foe  or  a  stranger.  Thus 
the  tree  serves  as  a  sort  of  news  depot;  and  there  is 
one  every  few  hundred  yards  in  country  with  a 
large  Bear  population. 

These  trees,  of  course,  abound  in  the  Park.  Any 
good  guide  will  point  out  some  examples.  In  the 
country  south  of  the  Lake,  I  found  them  so  com- 
mon that  it  seemed  as  if  the  Bears  had  made  many 
of  them  for  mere  sport. 

A  PEEP  INTO  BEAR  FAMILY  LIFE 

When  we  went  to  the  Yellowstone  in  1897  to 
spend  the  season  studying  wild  animal  life,  we 
lived  in  a  small  shanty  that  stood  near  Yancey's, 
and  had  many  pleasant  meetings  with  Antelope, 
Beaver,  etc.,  but  were  disappointed  in  not  seeing 
any  Bears.  One  of  my  reasons  for  coming  was 
the  promise  of  "as  many  Bears  as  I  liked." 
But  some  tracks  on  the  trail  a  mile  away  were 
204 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

the  only  proofs  that  I  found  of  Bears  being  in  the 
region. 

One  day  General  Young,  then  in  charge  of  the 
Park,  came  to  see  how  we  were  getting  along.  And 
I  told  him  that  although  I  had  been  promised  as 
many  Bears  as  I  liked,  and  I  had  been  there  investi- 
gating for  six  weeks  already,  I  hadn't  seen  any.  He 
replied,  "You  are  not  hi  the  right  place.  Go  over 
to  the  Fountain  Hotel  and  there  you  will  see  as 
many  Bears  as  you  wish."  That  was  impossible, 
for  there  were  not  Bears  enough  in  the  West  to 
satisfy  me,  I  thought.  But  I  went  at  once  to  the 
Fountain  Hotel  and  without  loss  of  time  stepped 
out  the  back  door. 

I  had  not  gone  fifty  feet  before  I  walked  onto  a 
big  Blackbear  with  her  two  roly-poly  black  cubs. 
The  latter  were  having  a  boxing  match,  while  the 
mother  sat  by  to  see  fair  play.  As  soon  as  they  saw 
me  they  stopped  their  boxing,  and  as  soon  as  I  saw 
them  I  stopped  walking.  The  old  Bear  gave  a 
peculiar  "Koff  ko/,"  I  suppose  of  warning,  for  the 
young  ones  ran  to  a  tree,  and  up  that  they  shinned 
with  alacrity  that  amazed  me.  When  safely  aloft, 
they  sat  like  small  boys,  holding  on  with  their 
hands,  while  their  little  black  legs  dangled  hi  the 
air,  and  waited  to  see  what  was  to  happen  down 
below. 

205 


Beats  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

The  mother  Bear,  still  on  her  hind  legs,  came 
slowly  toward  me,  and  I  began  to  feel  very  uncom- 
fortable indeed,  for  she  stood  about  six  feet  high 
in  her  stocking  feet,  and  I  had  not  even  a  stick  to 
defend  myself  with.  I  began  backing  slowly  to- 
ward the  hotel,  and  by  way  of  my  best  defense,  I 
turned  on  her  all  the  power  of  my  magnetic  eye. 
We  have  all  of  us  heard  of  the  wonderful  power  of  the 
magnetic  human  eye.  Yes,  we  have,  but  appar- 
ently this  old  Bear  had  not,  for  she  came  on  just 
the  same.  She  gave  a  low  woof,  and  I  was  about 
to  abandon  all  attempts  at  dignity,  and  run  for  the 
hotel;  but  just  at  this  turning-point  the  old  Bear 
stopped,  and  gazed  at  me  calmly. 

Then  she  faced  about  and  waddled  over  to  the 
tree,  up  which  were  the  cubs.  Underneath  she 
stood,  looking  first  at  me,  then  at  her  family.  I 
realized  that  she  wasn't  going  to  bother  me,  in  fact 
she  never  seemed  very  serious  about  it,  so  I  plucked 
up  courage.  I  remembered  what  I  came  for  and 
got  down  my  camera.  But  when  I  glanced  at  the 
sky,  and  gauged  the  light  —  near  sundown  in  the 
woods  —  I  knew  the  camera  would  not  serve  me; 
so  I  got  out  my  sketch  book  instead,  and  made  the 
sketch  which  is  given  on  Plate  XXXVIH;  I  have 
not  changed  it  since. 

Meanwhile  the  old  Bear  had  been  sizing  me  up, 
206 


fMto  by  F.  Linde  Ryon,  Flushing,  L.  I. 

XLI.     While  I  sketched  the  Bears  a  brother  camera  hunter  was 
stalking  me  without  my  knowledge 


Phalo  by  E.  T.  Selon 

XLII.     One  meets  the  Bears  at  nearly  every  turn  in  the  woods 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

and  evidently  made  up  her  mind  that,  "although 
that  human  being  might  be  all  right,  she  would 
take  no  chances  for  her  little  ones." 

She  looked  up  to  her  two  hopefuls,  and  gave  a 
peculiar  whining  "Er-r-r  er-r,"  whereupon,  like 
obedient  children,  they  jumped  as  at  the  word  of 
command.  There  was  nothing  about  them  heavy 
or  bear- like  as  commonly  understood;  lightly  they 
swung  from  bough  to  bough  till  they  dropped  to 
the  ground,  and  all  went  off  together  into  the  woods. 

I  was  much  tickled  by  the  prompt  obedience  of 
these  little  Bears.  As  soon  as  their  mother  told 
them  to  do  something  they  did  it.  They  did  not 
even  offer  a  suggestion.  But  I  also  found  out  that 
ther  j  was  a  good  reason  back  of  it,  for,  had  they  not 
done  as  she  had  told  them,  they  would  have  got 
such  a  spanking  as  would  have  made  them  howl. 
Yes,  it  is  quite  the  usual  thing,  I  find,  for  an  old 
Blackbear  to  spank  her  little  ones  when  in  her 
opinion  they  need  it,  and  she  lays  it  on  well.  She 
has  a  good  strong  paw,  and  does  not  stop  for  their 
squealing;  so  that  one  correction  lasts  a  long  time. 

This  was  a  delightful  peep  into  Bear  home-life, 
and  would  have  been  well  worth  coming  for,  if  the 
insight  had  ended  there.  But  my  friends  in  the 
hotel  said  that  that  was  no*,  the  best  place  for 
Bears.  I  should  go  to  the  garbage-heap,  a  quarter- 
.207 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

mile  off  in  the  forest.  There,  they  said,  I  surely 
could  see  as  many  Bears  as  I  wished,  which  was 
absurd  of  them. 

THE  DAY  AT  THE  GARBAGE  PILE 

Early  next  morning  I  equipped  myself  with  pen- 
cils, paper  and  a  camera,  and  set  out  for  the  gar- 
bage pile.  At  first  I  watched  from  the  bushes,  some 
seventy-five  yards  away,  but  later  I  made  a  hole 
in  the  odorous  pile  itself,  and  stayed  there  all  day 
long,  sketching  and  snapshotting  the  Bears  which 
came  and  went  in  greater  numbers  as  the  day  was 
closing. 

A  sample  of  my  notes  made  on  the  spot  will 
illustrate  the  continuity  of  the  Bear  procession, 
yet  I  am  told  that  there  are  far  more  of  these 
animals  there  to-day  than  at  the  time  of  my 
visit. 

Those  readers  who  would  follow  my  adventures 
in  detail  will  find  them  fully  and  exactly  set  forth 
in  the  story  of  Johnny  Bear,  which  appears  in 
"Lives  of  the  Hunted,"  so  I  shall  not  further  en- 
large on  them  here,  except  to  relate  one  part  which 
was  omitted,  as  it  dealt  with  a  photographic  ex- 
perience. 

In  the  story  I  told  how,  backed  by  a  mounted 

cowboy,  I  sat  on  the  garbage  pile  while  the  great 

208 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

Grizzly  that  had  worsted  Old  Grumpy,  came  stri- 
ding nearer,  and  looming  larger. 

He  had  not  quite  forgotten  the  recent  battle, 
his  whole  air  was  menacing,  and  I  had  all  the  appro- 
priate sensations  as  he  approached.  At  forty 
yards  I  snapped  him,  and  again  at  twenty.  Still 
he  was  coming,  but  at  fifteen  feet  he  stopped  and 
turned  his  head,  giving  me  the  side  view  I  wanted, 
and  I  snapped  the  camera  again.  The  effect  was 
startling.  That  insolent,  nagging  little  click 
brought  the  wrath  of  the  Grizzly  onto  myself. 
He  turned  on  me  with  a  savage  growl.  I  was  feel- 
ing  just  as  I  should  be  feeling;  wondering,  indeed, 
if  my  last  moment  had  not  come,  but  I  found  guid- 
ance in  the  old  adage:  "when  you  don't  know  a 
thing  to  do,  don't  do  a  thing."  For  a  minute  or 
two  the  Grizzly  glared,  and  I  remained  still;  then 
calmly  ignoring  me  he  set  about  his  feast. 

All  of  this  I  tell  in  detail  in  my  story.  But  there 
was  one  thing  I  did  not  dare  to  do  then;  that  was 
show  the  snaps  I  made. 

Surely  it  would  be  a  wonderful  evidence  of  my 
courage  and  coolness  if  I  could  show  a  photograph 
of  that  big  Grizzly  when  he  was  coming  on  — 
maybe  to  kill  me  —  I  did  not  know,  but  I  had  a 
dim  vision  of  my  sorrowing  relatives  developing  the 
plate  to  see  how  it  happened,  for  I  pressed  the 
209 


Beats  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

button  at  the  right  time.  The  picture,  such  as  it  is, 
I  give  as  Plate  XL,  c.  I  was  so  calm  and  cool  and 
collected  that  I  quite  forgot  to  focus  the  camera. 

LONESOME  JOHNNY 

During  all  this  time  Johnny  had  been  bemoaning 
his  sad  lot,  at  the  top  of  the  tree;  there  I  left  him, 
still  lamenting.  That  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of 
him.  In  my  story  of  Johnny  Bear,  I  relate  many 
other  adventures  that  were  ascribed  to  him,  but 
these  were  told  me  by  the  men  who  lived  in  the 
Park,  and  knew  the  lame  cub  much  better  than  I  did. 
My  own  acquaintance  with  him  was  all  within  the 
compass  of  the  one  day  I  spent  in  the  garbage-pile. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  although  Johnny  died 
that  autumn,  they  have  had  him  every  year  ever 
since;  and  some  years  they  have  had  two  for  the 
satisfaction  of  visitors  who  have  read  up  properly 
before  coming  to  the  Park.  Indeed,  when  I  went 
back  to  the  Fountain  Hotel  fifteen  years  after- 
ward, a  little  Bear  came  and  whined  under  my 
window  about  dawn,  and  the  hotel  folk  assured 
me  it  was  Little  Johnny  calling  on  his  creator. 

FURTHER  ANNALS  OF  THE  SANCTUARY 

All  of  this  was  fifteen  years  ago.  Since  then 
there  have  been  some  interesting  changes,  but  they 

210 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Selon 

XLIII.    The  shyer  ones  take  to  a  tree,  if  one  comes  too  near 


Photo  by  E.  T.  Selon 

XLIV.     Clifford  B.  Harmon  feeding  a  Bear 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

are  in  the  line  of  growth.  Thirteen  Bears  in  view 
at  one  time  was  my  highest  record,  and  that  after 
sundown;  but  I  am  told  that  as  many  as  twenty  or 
twenty-five  Bears  are  now  to  be  seen  there  at  once 
in  June  and  July,  when  the  wildwood  foods  are 
scarce.  Most  of  them  are  Blackbears,  but  there 
are  always  a  few  Grizzlies  about. 

In  view  of  their  reputation,  their  numbers  and 
the  gradual  removal  of  the  restraining  fear  of 
men,  one  wonders  whether  these  creatures  are  not 
a  serious  menace  to  the  human  dwellers  of  the 
Park.  The  fundamental  peacefulness  of  the  un- 
hungry  animal  world  is  wonderfully  brought  out 
by  the  groups  of  huge  shaggy  monsters  about  the 
hotels. 

At  one  time,  and  for  long  it  was  said,  and  truth- 
fully, that  the  Bears  in  the  Park  had  never  abused 
the  confidence  man  had  placed  in  them.  But  one 
or  two  encounters  have  taken  place  to  prove  the 
exception. 

An  enthusiastic  camera-hunter,  after  hearing 
of  my  experiences  at  the  garbage  pile,  went  there 
some  years  later,  duly  equipped  to  profit  by  the 
opportunity. 

A  large  she  Bear,  with  a  couple  of  cubs  appeared, 
but  they  hovered  at  a  distance  and  did  not  give 
the  artist  a  fair  chance.  He  waited  a  long  time, 

211  <* 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

then  seeing  that  they  would  not  come  to  him,  he 
decided  to  go  to  them.  Quitting  that  sheltering 
hole,  he  sneaked  along;  crouching  low  and  holding 
the  camera  ready,  he  rapidly  approached  the 
family  group.  When  the  young  ones  saw  this 
strange  two-legged  beast  coming  threateningly 
near  them,  they  took  alarm  and  ran  whining  to 
their  mother.  All  her  maternal  wrath  was  aroused 
to  see  this  smallish,  two-legged,  one-eyed  creature, 
evidently  chasing  her  cubs  to  harm  them.  A  less 
combination  than  that  would  have  made  her  take 
the  war-path,  and  now  she  charged.  She  struck 
him  but  once;  that  was  enough.  His  camera  was 
wrecked,  and  for  two  weeks  afterward  he  was  in 
the  hospital,  nursing  three  broken  ribs,  as  well  as  a 
body  suffering  from  shock. 

There  was  another,  an  old  Grizzly  that  became 
a  nuisance  about  the  hotels,  as  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  walk  into  the  kitchens  and  help  himself  to  food. 
Around  the  tents  of  campers  he  became  a  terror, 
as  he  soon  realized  that  these  folk  carried  food, 
and  white  canvas  walls  rising  in  the  woods  were 
merely  invitations  to  a  dinner  ready  and  waiting. 
It  is  not  recorded  that  he  hurt  any  one  in  his  nu- 
merous raids  for  food.  But  he  stampeded  horses 
and  broke  the  camp  equipments,  as  well  as  pillaged 
many  larders. 

212 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

One  of  my  guides  described  a  lively  scene  in 
which  the  Bear,  in  spite  of  blazing  brands,  ran  into 
the  cook's  quarters  and  secured  a  ham.  The  cook 
pursued  with  a  stick  of  firewood.  At  each  whack 
the  Bear  let  off  a  "whoof"  but  he  did  not  drop  the 
ham,  and  the  party  had  to  return  to  Fort  Yellow- 
stone for  supplies. 

Incidents  of  this  kind  multiplied,  and  finally 
Buffalo  Jones,  who  was  then  the  Chief  Scout  of  the 
Park,  was  permitted  to  punish  the  old  sinner. 
Mounted  on  his  trained  saddle-horse,  swinging  the 
lasso  that  has  caught  so  many  different  kinds  of 
beasts  in  so  many  different  lands,  the  Colonel  gave 
chase.  Old  Grizzly  dodged  among  the  pines  for  a 
while,  but  the  pony  was  good  to  follow;  and  when 
the  culprit  took  to  open  ground,  the  unerring  lasso 
whistled  in  the  air  and  seized  him  by  the  hind  paw. 
It  takes  a  good  rope  to  stand  the  jerk  of  half  a  ton 
of  savage  muscle,  but  the  rope  was  strong;  it 
stood,  and  there  was  some  pretty  manoeuvring, 
after  which  the  lasso  was  found  over  a  high  branch, 
with  a  couple  of  horses  on  the  "Jones  end"  and 
they  hauled  the  Bear  aloft  where,  through  the 
medium  of  a  stout  club,  he  received  a  drubbing 
that  has  become  famous  in  the  moving-picture 
world. 

Another  of  these  big,  spoiled  babies  was  sent  to 

213 


Beats  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

Washington  Zoo,  where  he  is  now  doing  duty  as  an 
exhibition  Grizzly. 

The  comedy  element  is  far  from  lacking  in  this 
life;  in  fact,  it  is  probably  the  dominant  one.  But 
the  most  grotesque  story  of  all  was  told  me  by 
a  friend  who  chummed  with  the  Bears  about  ten 
years  ago. 

One  day,  it  seems,  a  Blackbear  more  tame  than 
usual  went  right  into  the  bar-room  of  one  of  the 
hotels.  The  timid  floating  population  moved  out; 
the  bar-keep  was  cornered,  but  somewhat  pro- 
tected by  his  bar;  and  when  the  Bear  reared  up 
with  both  paws  on  the  mahogany,  the  wily 
"dispenser"  pushed  a  glass  of  beer  across,  saying 
nervously,  "Is  that  what  you  are  after? " 

The  Bear  liked  the  smell  of  the  offering,  and, 
stooping  down,  lapped  up  the  whole  glassful,  and 
what  was  spilt  he  carefully  licked  up  afterward,  to 
the  unmeasured  joy  of  the  loafers  who  peeped  in 
at  doors  and  windows,  and  jeered  at  the  bar-keep 
and  his  new  customer. 

"Say,  bar-keep,  who's  to  pay?"  "Don't  you 
draw  any  color  line?  "  "  If  I  come  in  a  fur  coat,  will 
you  treat  me?"  "No!  you  got  to  scare  him  to 
drink  free,"  etc.,  etc.,  were  examples  of  their 
remarks. 

Whatever  that  Bear  came  for,  she  seemed  satis- 
214 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

fied  with  what  she  got,  for  she  went  off  peaceably 
to  the  woods,  and  was  seen  later  lying  asleep  under 
a  tree.  Next  day,  however,  she  was  back  again. 
The  scene  in  the  bar-room  was  repeated  with  less 
intensity. 

On  the  third  and  fourth  days  she  came  as  before, 
but  on  the  fifth  day  she  seemed  to  want  something 
else.  Prompted  by  a  kindred  feeling,  one  of  the 
loafers  suggested  that  "She  wants  another 
round."  His  guess  was  right,  and  having  got  it, 
that  abandoned  old  Bear  began  to  reel,  but  she 
was  quite  good-natured  about  it,  and  at  length  lay 
down  under  a  table,  where  her  loud  snores  pro- 
claimed to  all  that  she  was  asleep  —  beastly  drunk, 
and  asleep  —  just  like  one  of  the  lords  of  creation. 

From  that  time  on  she  became  a  habitual  fre- 
quenter of  the  bar-room.  Her  potations  were 
increased  each  month.  There  was  a  time  when 
one  glass  of  beer  made  her  happy,  but  now  it  takes 
three  or  four,  and  sometimes  even  a  little  drop  of 
something  stronger.  But  whatever  it  is,  it  has 
the  desired  effect,  and  "Swizzling  Jinnie"  lurches 
over  to  the  table,  under  which  she  sprawls  at 
length,  and  tuning  up  her  nasophone  she  sleeps 
aloud,  and  unpeacefully,  demonstrating  to  all 
the  world  that  after  all  a  "Bear  is  jest  a  kind 
o*  a  man  in  a  fur  coat."  Who  can  doubt  it 

215 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

that  reads  this  tale,  for  it  is  true;  at  least 
it  was  told  me  for  the  truth,  by  no  less  an 
authority  than  one  of  Jennie's  intimate  associates 
at  the  bar-room. 

THE   GRIZZLY  AND    THE   CAN 

When  one  remembers  the  Grizzly  Bear  as  the 
monarch  of  the  mountains,  the  king  of  the  plains, 
and  the  one  of  matchless  might  and  unquestioned 
sway  among  the  wild  things  of  the  West,  it  gives 
one  a  shock  to  think  of  him  being  conquered  and 
cowed  by  a  little  tin  can.  Yet  he  was,  and  this 
is  how  it  came  about. 

A  grand  old  Grizzly,  that  was  among  the  summer 
retinue  of  a  Park  hotel,  was  working  with  two  claws 
to  get  out  the  very  last  morsel  of  some  exceptionally 
delicious  canned  stuff.  The  can  was  extra  strong, 
its  ragged  edges  were  turned  in,  and  presently  both 
toes  of  the  Bear  were  wedged  firmly  in  the  clutch 
of  that  impossible,  horrid  little  tin  trap.  The 
monster  shook  his  paw,  and  battered  the  enemy, 
but  it  was  as  sharp  within  as  it  was  smooth  with- 
out, and  it  gripped  his  paw  with  the  fell  clutch  of  a 
disease.  His  toes  began  to  swell  with  all  this 
effort  and  violence,  till  they  filled  the  inner  space 
completely.  The  trouble  was  made  worse  and  the 
paw  became  painfully  inflamed. 
216 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

All  day  long  that  old  Grizzly  was  heard  clumping 
around  with  that  dreadful  little  tin  pot  wedged 
on  his  foot.  Sometimes  there  was  a  loud  suc- 
cession of  clamp,  clamp,  clamp's  which  told  that 
the  enraged  monarch  with  canned  toes  was  venting 
his  rage  on  some  of  the  neighbouring  Blackbears. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  that  shiny  tin  main- 
tained its  frightful  grip  on  the  Grizzly,  who,  limp- 
ing noisily  around,  was  known  and  recognized  as 
"Can-foot."  His  comings  and  goings  to  and  from 
the  garbage  heap,  by  day  and  by  night,  were  plainly 
announced  to  all  by  the  clamp,  clamp,  clamp  of 
that  maddening,  galling  tin.  Some  weeks  went  by 
and  still  the  implacable  meat  box  held  on. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  Park  came  riding 
by  one  day;  he  heard  the  strange  tale  of  trouble, 
and  saw  with  his  own  eyes  the  limping  Grizzly, 
with  his  muzzled  foot.  At  a  wave  of  his  hand  two 
of  the  trusty  scouts  of  the  Park  patrol  set  out  with 
their  ponies  and  whistling  lassoes  on  the  strangest 
errand  that  they,  or  any  of  their  kind,  had  ever 
known.  In  a  few  minutes  those  wonderful  raw-hide 
ropes  had  seized  him  and  the  monarch  of  the 
mountains  was  a  prisoner  bound.  Strong  shears 
were  at  hand.  That  vicious  little  can  was  ripped 
open.  It  was  completely  filled  now  with  the 
swollen  toes.  The  surgeon  dressed  the  wounds, 
217 


Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree 

and  the  Grizzly  was  set  free.  His  first  blind 
animal  impulse  was  to  attack  his  seeming  tor- 
menters,  but  they  were  wise  and  the  ponies  were 
bear-broken;  they  easily  avoided  the  charge,  and 
he  hastened  to  the  woods  to  recover,  finally,  both 
his  health  and  his  good  temper,  and  continue  about 
the  Park,  the  only  full-grown  Grizzly  Bear,  prob- 
ably, that  man  ever  captured  to  help  in  time  of 
trouble,  and  then  set  loose  again  to  live  his  life  in 
peace. 


218 


-      7 


Photos  by  F.  Jay  llaynti 

XLV.    The  Bears  at  feeding  time 


Appendix 

Mammals  of  the 
Yellowstone  Park 


Appendix 
Mammals  of  the  Yellowstone  Park 

A  LIST  OF  THE  SPECIES  FOUND  IN  THE  PARK  IN  IQI2 

BY  ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON 
With  assistance  from  the  U.  S.  Biological  Survey, 
and  Colonel  L.  M.  Brett,  in  charge  of  the  Park. 

Elk  or  Wapiti  (Cervus  canadensis) 
Abundant.    By  actual  official  count,  and  estimate 
of  stray  bands,  they  number  at  least  35,000,  of 
which  about  5,000  winter  in  the  Park. 

Mule  Deer  or  Rocky  Mt.  Blacktail  (Odocoileus  hemi- 
nus) 

Common.  The  official  census  gives  their  number  at 
400,  of  which  at  least  100  winter  about  Fort  Yellow- 
stone. 

Whitetail  Deer  (Odocoileus   wrginianus  macrourus) 
A  few  found  about  Gardiner,  on  Willow  Creek, 
on  Indian  Creek,  at  Crevasse  Mt.  and  in  Cotton- 
wood  Basin.    The  official  census  gives  their  number 
at  zoo. 

Moose  (Alces  americanus) 

Formerly  rare,  now  abundant  in  all  the  southerly 
third  of  the  Park.  In  1897  they  were  estimated 

221 


Appendix 

at  50.    The  official  census  gives  their  number  at  550 
in  1912. 

Antelope  or  Pronghorn  (Antilocapra  americana) 
Formerly  abundant,  now  rare;  found  only  in  broad 
open  places   such  as  Lamar  Valley,  etc.    Their 
numbers  have   shrunk  from  many  thousands  in 
the  'yo's  to  about  1,500  in  1897,  and  500  in  1912. 

Mountain  Sheep  or  Bighorn  (Ovis  canadensis) 
Formerly  rare,  now  common  about  Mt.  Evarts,  Mt. 
Washburn  and  the  western  boundary.     In  1897 
there'jwere  about  100,  perhaps  only  75;  in  1912  they 
are  reported  numbering  210  by  actual  count. 

American  Buffalo  or  Bison  (Bison  bison) 
Steadily   increasing.    In    1897    there   were   about 
30;  they  now  number  199  by  actual  count.    These 
are  in  two  herds,  of  49  wild,  and  150  in  the  fenced 
corrals. 

Richardson  Red-squirrel  (Sciurus  hudsonicus  richard- 
soni) 
Abundant  in  all  pine  woods. 

Northern  Chipmunk   (Eutamias  quadrivittatus  lulei- 

ventris) 
_Extremely  abundant  everywhere. 

Least  Chipmunk  (Eutamias  minimus  pictus) 
Common  about  Mammoth  Hot  Springs. 

Golden  Ground-squirrel  (Citettus  laterdis  cinerascens) 
Common. 

Picket-pin  Ground-squirrel  (Citettus  armatus) 
Abundant  on  all  level  prairies. 

Prairie-dog  (Cynomys  ludovicianus) 
Gen.  Geo.  S.  Anderson  told  me  long  ago  that  the 
Prairie-dogs,  so  abundant  on  the  Lower  Yellowstone, 

322 


Sketches  by  E.  T.  Setnn 

•XL\\i.     Johnnie  Bear:  his  sins  and  his  troubles 


Photo  by  Miss  L  Grisc' 


XLVIII.  Johnnie  happy  at  last 


Appendix 

were  sometimes  seen  as  far  up  as  the  Park  at  Gar- 
diner. 

Yellow  Wopdchuck,  Rock  Chuck  or  Marmot  (Mar- 
mota  fiaviventer) 
Abundant  on  all  mountains. 

Rocky  Mt.  Flying  Squirrel  (Sciuropterus  alpinus) 
Said  to  be  found.    I  did  not  see  one. 

Beaver  (Castor  canadensis) 
Abundant  and  increasing. 

Grasshopper  Mouse  (Onychomys  leucogaster) 
I  found  a  typical  colony  of  this  species  on  the 

.  Yellowstone  near  Yancey's  but  did  not  secure  any* 

Mountain  Deermouse  (Peromyscus  maniculatus  artem- 
isiae) 
Abundant  everywhere. 

Mountain  Rat,  Pack-rat  or  Wood-rat  (Neotoma  cinerea) 
Said  to  be  found,  but  I  saw  none. 

Redbacked  Vole  or  Field-mouse   (Evotomys  gapperi 
galei) 

Not  taken  yet  in  the  Park  but  found  in  all  the 
surrounding  country,  therefore,  probable. 

Common  Field-mouse  (Microtus  pennsylvannicus  mo- 
destus) 

Recorded  by  Vernon  Bailey  from  Lower  Geyser 
Basin  in  the  Park. 

Long-tailed  Vole  (Microtus  mordax) 
Vernon  Bailey  records  this  from  various  surround- 
ing localities,  also  from  Tower  Falls.  Doubtless  it 
is  generally  distributed.  This  is  the  bobtailed,  short- 
eared,  dark  gray  mouse  that  is  found  making  runs 
in  the  thick  grass,  especially  in  low  places. 

Big-footed  Vole  (Microtus  richardsoni  macropus) 

223 


Appendix 

Not  yet  taken  in  the  Park,  but  found  in  surrounding 

mountains,  therefore  probable. 
Muskrat  (Fiber  zibethicus  osoyoosensis) 

Common  and  of  general  distribution. 
Mole-gopher  or  Gray  Gopher  (Thomomys  tdpoides) 

A  Gopher  of  some  kind  abounds  in  the  Park.    I 

assume  it  to  be  this. 
Rocky  Mt.  Jumping  Mouse  (Zapus  princeps) 

Found  in  all  the  surrounding  country,  and  recorded 

by  E.  A.  Preble  from  near  Yellowstone  Lake. 
Yellow-haired  Porcupine  (Erethizon  epixanthus) 

Somewhat  common  in  the  pine  woods  on  the  Con- 
tinental Divide. 
Coney,  Rock  Rabbit,  Pika,  or  Calling  Hare  (Ochotona 

princeps) 

Abundant  hi  all  slide  rock. 
Rocky  Mt.  Cottontail  (Sylvilagus  nuttalli  granger?) 

Plentiful  about  Gardiner  and  in  some  of  the  lower 

regions  of  the  Park,  but  not  general. 
Snowshoe  Rabbit  (Lepus  bairdi) 

Common  and  generally  distributed. 
White-tailed  Jack  Rabbit  (Lepus  campestris) 

Common  and  generally  distributed. 
Mountain  Lion,  Cougar  or  Puma  (Felis  hippolestes) 

In  1897  it  was  considered  extremely  rare;  probably 

not  more  than  a  dozen  were  then  living  in  the  Park; 

since  then  it  seems  to  have  increased  greatly  and  is 

now  somewhat  common  in  the  mountainous  parts. 

Their  numbers  are  given  officially  at  100  in  1912. 
Canada  Lynx  (Lynx  canadensis) 

Common. 
Bobcat  or  Mountain-cat  (Lynx  uinta) 

224 


Appendix 

Somewhat  common. 
The  Big-tatted  Fox  (Vulpes  macrourus) 

Common. 
Timber  Wolf  (Canis  occidentalis) 

Very  rare,  noticed  only  at  Hell  Roaring  Creek  and 

Slough  Creek.    On   August    25,  1912,   Lieut.   M. 

Murray  saw  two  in  a  meadow  two  miles  southeast 

of  Snow  Shoe  Cabin  on  Slough  Creek.    They  were 

plainly  seen  in  broad  daylight;  and  were  nearly 

white. 
Coyote  (Canis  latrans) 

Abundant  everywhere,  although  officially  reckoned 

they  numbered  only  400  in  1912. 
Otter  (Lutra  canadensis) 

Common,  particularly  around  the  Lake  and  the 

Canyon. 
Mink  (Lutreola  vison  energumenos) 

Common. 
Long-tailed  Weasel  (Putorius  longicauda) 

Said  to  be  found.    I  did  not  see  any. 
Short-tailed  Weasel  (Putorius  cicognanii) 

Included  because  its  range  includes  the  Park. 
Marten  (Mustda  caurina) 

Found  throughout  the  Park,  but  not  common. 
Pekan  or  Fisher  (Mustda  pennanti) 

Rare.    Gen.  G.  S.  Anderson  tells  me  that  in  the 

early  '90*3  he  took  the  skin  of  one  from  a  poacher. 
Wolverine  (Gulo  luscus) 

Of  general  distribution,  but  not  common. 
Northern  Skunk  (Mephitis  hudsonica) 

Rare,  but  found  at  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  and 

Yancey's. 

225 


Appendix 

Badger  (Taxidea  taxus) 
Common. 

Raccoon  or  Coon  (Procyon  lotor) 
Said  to  occur.    Fifteen  years  ago  at  Gardiner  I 
was  shown  one  that  was  said  to  have  been  taken 
in  the  Park,  but  it  was  not  certain. 

Grizzly  Bear  (Ursus  horribilis) 
Common.    The  official  count  gives  50  in  1912. 

Blackbear  (Ursus  americanus) 
Abundant  and  increasing.    The  official  count  gives 
100  in  1912. 

Common  or  Masked  Shrew  (Sorex  personatus) 
Never  taken,  but  included  because  its  known  range 
surrounds  the  Park. 

Marsh  Shrew  or  Water  Shrew  (Neosorex  palustris) 
Probably  occurs  there,  since  its  known  range  sur- 
rounds die  Park. 

Long-eared  Bat  (Corynorhinus  macrotis  pallescens) 
A  few  were  seen  in  the  Devil's  Kitchen,  Mammoth 
Hot  Springs,  and  one  sent  to  the  Biological  Survey 
for  identification.    This  is  the  only  Bat  taken,  but 
the  following   are    likely    to   be    found,  as    their 
known  range  surrounds  the  Park: 
Little  Brown  Bat  (Myotis  lucifugus) 
Silver-haired  Bat  (Lasionycteris  noctivagans) 
Big  Brown  Bat  (Eptesicus  fuscus) 
Great  Hoary  Bat  (Nycteris  d 


226 


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